


Jigsaw Falling Into Place

by Lisztful



Category: CW RPS, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: lgbtfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisztful/pseuds/Lisztful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has always been attracted to guys, but it takes Jared getting married to make him start to accept who he is.  The only question is, will Jared accept it?  Featuring angst, first time gay bar experiences, revelations (although not the biblical sort), marriages gained and lost, and a lot of baked goods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jigsaw Falling Into Place

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt for the lgbtfest: "2466. RPF - Supernatural, Jensen Ackles &amp; Jared Padaleki, Considering they've had a good laugh about people's perceptions in the past and how close a friendship they have, Jensen was sure that Jared would be understanding when he came out, that was why he chose him to be the first one he told. (Could go either way – unexpected homo/biphobia or the expected support possibly even more)" Thanks to Erda for the beta, and for the countless hours she spent brainstorming and letting me bounce ideas off her. You're fantastic! Title comes from Radiohead.

The architecture flashes by, old buildings in brown or gray, all covered over with graffiti. Each one is a little different from the others, all different colors, names, symbols. Tags, Jensen thinks they're called. The sky is gray, the stone is gray, even the inside of the train is gray, but the tags are brilliant flashes of blue, orange, yellow stripes. And Jared's married, a thought that's been all he can think about since it's happened. He wonders which part of the color metaphor that's supposed to be. Trains always make him queasy.

Jared's in Texas now, showing Gen the sights. It's a big state, hours between them, but Jensen doesn't want to set foot there. Ditto LA, which stinks of Jared and his big, perfect, awful smile.

He texts Danneel. _goin to philly. Want anything_

The response comes an hour later, and reads, _you cowardly shit. Also, can you take cheesesteaks on airplanes?_

_I hate you,_ he returns, _ but seriously I'll be here for a few days, need to unwind_.

_I'm working like 16 hr days, so fuck u_, she says, and Jensen just sends a smiley face in reply.

A day later, he's ensconced in a dim bar, sipping a gin and tonic and wondering why he chose it over beer. Just faster, maybe. He's been riding around fairly aimlessly on various trains for the last few days, so it feels good to be still for once, recently showered and having walked from his hotel to this bar instead of taking a cab.

A guy sits down next to him, at the corner of the bar. He's handsome, with shaggy blond hair and a lilting, mischievous grin. His jaw is faintly stubbled, which Jensen has always liked. It feels good, the harsh rub of it.

"Hey," the guy says. It's nonchalant, friendly, but Jensen assumes he's chosen to sit here for a reason. "Sorry," the guy continues. "I don't mean to be creepy, but you look kind of lonely."

"Oh," Jensen says dully. "I'm okay. Thanks though."

The guy shrugs. "Can I get your next round?"

It's so easy, so casual. He's got nothing invested in this except that he wants to keep talking to Jensen. He clearly doesn't know who Jensen is. If he thinks he looks familiar, it's idle. There's no spark of recognition, nothing calculating beneath his pure, mindless, instinctive physical desire. There's something about the way Jensen looks that this person likes, but that's all it is. It's kind of a relief.

"Thanks," Jensen says softly, and smiles just a little. It makes his stomach knot up, thinking that he could really do this. He could go home with this person, not say a word about careers or disapproving families. For all this person knows, he does this all the time, isn't afraid of being caught, of his parents' shame and disapproval, of losing his job, his friends, his life.

He could never really do it, though. It's a career ender. Even if this guy doesn't know who Jensen is today, he could find out later, could drag it up years down the line and ruin Jensen's life in every possible way. It's still a nice dream, though. Jensen's pretty pathetic, so his dreams about boyfriends or partners are pretty much exclusively about Jared. However, he can imagine getting fucked by a man like this, the rough burn of his stubbled jaw against Jensen's cheek, the press of his tanned, squared off fingertips against Jensen's hips as he shoves deep inside of him. That, Jensen can imagine.

His drink is clouded over with condensation, slippery against his too warm palm as he takes a deep, unsteady gulp, finishing off the last burning sip.

The next drink is also a gin and tonic, and the guy orders it with Hendricks', not flinching at the price. His voice is surprisingly gentle, and he says it like Jensen is something so luminous and precious, someone who deserves the very best. He doesn't even know Jensen. He wonders for a moment if this is how normal people meet. After all, this person already knows more about Jensen than most of his friends and family do. Than almost all of them, really.

They talk, inching steadily closer throughout the evening. The guy's name is Pete, and he's an illustrator. He lists off a few children's books with a rueful grin, and Jensen thinks of Jared's smile, the tiny, self-effacing look he sometimes gets when there's no audience to ham it up for. Genevieve is so tiny and beautiful and must be so lost between Jared's huge hands, and Jensen wonders if he smiles at her like that, when she's tucked neatly into his arms.

"I have to go," he says aloud, unsteadily, and stumbles out of the bar with Pete the illustrator staring dumbly after him.

Outside it's blessedly cool, a relief that Jensen hadn't realized he needed until he got it. It's just a short walk to the hotel, and it's not really enough to calm him. Inside, he makes it through the lobby and into the elevator, leaning against the smooth, cool metal of the railing set around the inside. It's sterile, just like his pristine room. Back at room 1418, he glances around at the vaguely modernist furniture, black leather-look chair, and the mini-bar tastefully hidden away in an antique wardrobe. His bag is half open, a few wrinkled t-shirts just visible over the unzippered lip, and his laptop blinks listlessly from the desk, sitting at a lopsided angle from the complimentary notepad and the pen emblazoned with the hotel logo that are caught beneath it.

He crosses the room to gaze out the window. It's a fourteenth floor room just off Penn's Landing, and his view overlooks the waterfront. It feels sterile in this space, as though living things couldn't grow here. It's vaguely claustrophobic, and it doesn't take more than one final glance around the cold, stark room to convince Jensen that he needs to get back out of here for a while, for as long as it takes to be too tired to care about how dead this room is inside. He goes back to the elevator, punching the lobby button and leaning up against the wall. He's restless, and the ride seems to take hours, despite the uncomfortable vertigo that indicates a swift drop.

Outside, he follows a long, neatly paved path out to the waterfront, finding a bench where he can look out and see nothing but water, boats bobbing gently atop it where they're lashed to the harbor. He doesn't know much about Philadelphia, and had no particular reason for choosing to come here. He'd chosen it on a whim, because it was right above where he'd been lazily doodling on the train schedule he'd picked up at the last major station he'd passed through. The name feels nice when he mouths it, full of crisp syllables, and he has a vague idea of important things having happened here, vestiges of high school lectures and passages from long forgotten books blending into the line of old buildings. The water looks vast and mysterious, reflecting all of this back at him. It doesn't feel like home, which is exactly what Jensen needs.

He can't remember what the time difference is in Texas, not that he really ought to call no matter what it is. Jared and Genevieve aren't on honeymoon, just a few weeks of Gen getting to know the Texas of Jared's childhood, hearing the stories his family loves to tell about him, and learning how Sadie likes her ears rubbed for hours on end, if she can make someone do it. Jensen always does it. Does Sadie like Gen? he wonders, and what about Harley, who's so discerning? It took him a long time to get to know Jensen, but maybe that's just because Jensen's a guy.

Sooner or later, Jensen has to check in. This isn't the ideal time, of course. Jensen's a little drunk, a lot distressed, completely confused. Back in LA, he's acting all the time, always on the job, whether he's on TV or not. It's so much easier that way. Jensen, the star of Supernatural, is charmingly bashful, but always aware of how very likeable he is. He's confident, all expansive gestures and cool, slouching leans that draw the eye to the press of his well-tended body. That Jensen is straight, madly in love with Danneel. He certainly isn't in love with Jared. Not that Jared, anyway, and not that Jensen.

Now, though, he's alone, away from all of that, and it makes it difficult for Jensen to find any way to think about himself, to define himself in words or even pictures. It's all fragments, bits of memories and favorite foods, empty words that feel flat whenever he tries to apply them to himself. How can he reconcile these disparate things, the sharp dip he feels in his stomach when he knows a man is looking at him, versus pride parades, rainbow flags, Bette Midler? Or for that matter, with his father saying how glad he was to see Jensen settling down with a girl, muttering things about his high-school years looking bleak, so glad he got that sorted out. They don't seem the same thing at all, any of those things, which isn't great, because then the answer to who or what Jensen is is nothing, a void, the wrong puzzle piece, a twisted knot of the stomach.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, glancing down at the generic world-map display. Jared's reset it countless times, pictures of them sometimes, other times just Jared making dumb faces. Jensen always sets it back to the default.

He's already established it's a bad idea to call, but he does it anyway. The ringing seems to take an impossibly long time, and Jensen stands still, hand clenched around the phone as he waits, unsure if he'd rather someone picks up or not. It's frustrating how still the water looks, when his heart is knocking loud and fast. His chest feels heavy with it.

Jared picks up after three and a half rings. He's breathless, the gasp of a cut off laugh ghosting just before he says, "Hey!"

"Hey," Jensen repeats, and then he has to sit down. Jared's only said one word but it's enough to shatter every moment of relative calm Jensen's had, every inch of distance he's put between them. He might as well be right back at that wedding, twisting the cuff of his shirt between tension-whitened fingertips as he watches Jared lick butter-cream frosting off the back of his cake spoon.

"What's up, man?" Jared says, all innocent curiosity. "You took off after the reception. I was hopin' you'd stick around. Could've shown you the sights."

"I've seen all the sights," Jensen says, and presses a hand to his forehead. It's amazing how quickly this stuff gives him a headache, although maybe he just never got rid of his last one.

"I know, dude," Jared says, gently teasing, "but Gen hasn't."

"Yeah," Jensen says. "How's Gen?"

"Great, man," Jared says, and god, this is awkward. Since when are they unable to carry on a simple conversation?

"So you back in LA?" Jared asks, and he seems unaware of any strain in the conversation, thank god for small favors.

"Oh," Jensen says. "No, I'm on the East coast. Just needed a break, you know?"

"Totally," Jared says, and like always, for a moment he makes Jensen feel like he really does know. "Well, I gotta go," Jared says, all friendly disappointment. "I'll be back in LA in a few weeks. Maybe we can catch a beer before all the cons start up?"

"Yeah," Jensen says quietly. "Definitely."

There's a fuzzy background noise, and Jared laughs and says, distantly, "Hang on, yeah," and then back into the receiver, repeats, "Gotta go, Jen. Gen," he stops, chuckles. "You guys have the same nickname! Anyway she's about to fall over, she's got like six tons of beer. I'll catch you later!" It's bright, cheerful, and when Jensen hears the click of disconnection, the air goes suddenly flat.

"Fuck," Jensen says quietly, and turns away from the oblivious water. He's too old to be feeling like this, not that it seems to matter. Maybe it is time to go home, after all.

**  
Danneel is waiting for him at the airport, as beautiful and happy to see him as always.

"Hey," She says cheerfully, and leans into his space for a quick kiss. She smells of something fresh, maybe sandalwood or something. "Hungry?" she asks, trying to wrestle away his bag. He wins the fight, though only because Danneel loses interest in favor of a flight attendant hurrying by. "Mm, love those perky little neckties," she says consideringly. "Hey, you feel like pizza?"

Jensen glares at her, going for fierce but by her nonplussed reaction ending up somewhere closer to disgruntled puppy. "You know I can't eat that shit."

"Okay princess," Danneel says, shrugging. "More for me."

Outside, there are a few paparazzi lazily scanning the terminal for tinted windows and bodyguards. They stop for a moment, smiling pleasantly at the flashing bulbs, and Jensen thinks of the US weekly column they're probably headed for. _Jensen Ackles' girlfriend Danneel Harris, picks him up at the airport: Normal or not? (Normal!)_

"So," Danneel says nonchalantly. "Please don't say I'm having a midlife crisis, okay?"

Jensen looks at her suspiciously. "That really doesn't sound like something I should agree to."

"Okay fine," Danneel says, weaving between a pair of SUV's, black and navy blue. "Look, you know I've been thinking about getting a new car. "

Jensen nods slowly. "Yesss," he says, drawn out.

"Oh, shut up," Danneel says. "This car and I, we had an emotional connection. This car turned me into goddamned Dean Winchester." She pauses. "Except a feminist, obviously."

"Obviously," Jensen echoes bemusedly.

"Okay, don't freak out with your bitchy self," Danneel says, and points a perfectly manicured finger cross the lot. "That's our ride."

The car is clearly vintage, gleaming silver in the dim light of the parking garage. "It's a '66 Dodge Dart," Danneel says proudly, "In fantastic condition."

"Oh my god," Jensen says weakly. "I feel like if I was a car guy I'd be really impressed right now."

"Damn straight," Danneel says. "It's a beauty. I love it. A lot." She opens up the passenger door for Jensen before circling around to dump his stuff in the trunk, then slides into the driver's seat with an expression of pure glee. "Plus, you know," she says, as she turns the key in the ignition with a satisfying rumble, "Total chick magnet."

At home, everything is as Jensen remembers, tidy and dappled with later afternoon sun, and completely lacking the rails of clutter that always collect around Jared. He hasn't been here in ages, but Jensen remembers how quickly the debris collected around him, as though drawn by a very strong magnet. It's the same effect Jared has on people, actually. Jensen sags back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted.

Behind him, Danneel shuts her phone with a click. "Okay Mr. Pathetic, food's on the way. I have a four o'clock call, so I'd suggest you start your moping now, so I can get to bed by ten." She puts a hand on her hip, in her _I mean business_ pose.

"I'm so not moping," Jensen tries.

Danneel rolls her eyes skyward, clearly unimpressed with what he thought was pretty decent acting. "Except you so are," she says. She plops down on the couch beside him, holding her beer safely aloft. Jensen tries to snatch it from her, but she evades him easily, slapping his hand away. "Goes straight to your hips" she says, and curls into his side, rearranging him like a particularly recalcitrant armchair. "Come on, you'll feel better after the weeping and rending stage. Tell me how Jared's a bastard."

Jensen sighs and leans back against the couch. "It's not even that. I mean, how could I expect him to know what's going on when I can't even get my own shit together? I have no idea what I'm doing. I almost went home with somebody last night. I couldn't go through with it in the end, though."

"Oh, baby," Danneel says gently. "What happened?"

Jensen sighs, dropping his head into his hands. "Same old story. He wasn't worth the risk. Couldn't stop thinking about," he sighs heavily, "Other people, anyway."

"You know," Danneel says quietly, "This is why we have insanely expensive PR agents."

"I know. Jensen sighs again. "I just freaked out. Whatever, right?"

"Right," Danneel echoes, but her tone is doubtful. "Listen, Jen, I know your family didn't exactly fill you with joyful enthusiasm about coming out, but my family did. No pressure, but if you ever, you know, want to go there, I'd be there for you every step of the way."

"Thanks," Jensen says softly, and then the doorbell rings, heralding the pizza. Danneel doesn't bring it up again.

Jared's due back in a week and a half, and Jensen spends the first few days straight up moping. Danneel sighs and mocks him, but also brings home ice cream and red licorice, and even covers over the nutrition information with black sharpie so he doesn't have to feel quite as guilty. She's working on some shitty teen movie, and in the evenings she reads the highlights of the really awful script aloud, and laughs so hard she snorts root beer up her nose. It's something Jensen's always envied about her, that she really doesn't seem to care that the script is terrible, and nothing else about the film is much better. She actually seems to enjoy that.

On the third morning, Jensen announces, "I'm gonna teach myself to bake."

"Okay," Danneel says from her position slouched over the kitchen island, and shrugs. She's slurping lucky charms, protecting her coffee from Jensen with her free hand.

He goes for the cereal instead, rooting absentmindedly through the box for a handful of marshmallows. When he looks up, Danneel's glance is fixed on him, pensive despite her mouthful of charms.

"What?" He asks, looking down at himself in case of errant coffee stains. He's still in his glasses, and the edge of his vision is fuzzy when he glances downward.

Danneel takes another bite, scratching thoughtfully at her chin. "I asked this awesome girl out. Tonight, after filming's done. Might bring her back if all goes well."

"Sweet," Jensen says. "Need me to give her the don't you dare hurt my Hollywood fiance or I'll hunt you down speech?"

Danneel snorts into her cereal. "Nope, just wanted to make sure the happy couple gig wouldn't be too much of a downer for you." She raises an eyebrow at him. "Will it? Emotional closet-case crisis is probably an acceptable rain check."

"No," Jensen says. "Shut up. Where'd you meet this girl, anyway? Did you woo her with your car?"

"Dude, no," Danneel scoffs. "I wooed her with my awesome. The car's just a bonus. Anyway, she's one of the camera people on set. Gets all hot and bothered about pans and zoom lenses and shit. It's beautiful."

"Okay, don't objectify her," Jensen, making one last, halfhearted grasp at the coffee. Danneel just laughs at the attempt, then drains the cup. "And have fun," Jensen adds, scowling down at the empty cup. His tone belies his expression, though. "I'll be here not setting shit on fire."

"Awesome," Danneel says, and steals a marshmallow out of his hand before breezing out the door.

**  
Jensen loves the grocery store. He's not an awesome cook, but something about the endless array of items always makes him feel full of possibilities. He's at _Whole Foods_, wheeling around a cart stuffed to the bursting with a variety of baking products and implements that a morning of lazy googling had told him were necessary for baking success. It's relaxing, fairly quiet in the store as he picks up a six-pack of Danneel's favorite beer, and a few frozen pizzas. Normally one of their assistants does the shopping, but today Jensen's decided to brave the cell phone cameras, the whispers and glances, and it's actually not too bad, being fairly early on a Monday morning. Jensen even manages to smile almost genuinely at the cashier, and only has to sign three autographs before he can escape.

The rest of the day is spent on baking projects, with varying degrees of success. There's a point where he reaches for the salt instead of the sugar, and nearly ruins a batch of cookie batter, but catches himself in time, averting the calamity. After that, he makes a fresh pot of coffee and slumps down in the kitchen, leaning his head back against the far end of the island and breathing in the scent of baking cookies. He's okay as long as he keeps busy, but whenever he's still for a moment, it's all he can think about, this one, stupid, insignificant thing about him that threatens to ruin everything.

Is he sure? God, yeah, he's fucking sure. It's like an inescapable itch, something that makes him do stupid, reckless things. Or at least it used to, until a few close calls and a few cutting blind items showed him just how easy it would be to slip up for good. It's more than that, though. Not just a desire, an addiction. It's an ache inside of him, a want to be happy and carefree about it, to hold hands with a guy at movie premieres, to fall asleep on his shoulder when the CW fucks up and gets them economy class plane tickets. He wants to take showers together, sometimes share clothes, whatever. Mostly, he just wants to be fucking proud of who he is.

Right now, he's not doing so well at that. He can't even say it out loud, can't even whisper it.

It's not just about Jared, either, although admittedly all of the above fantasies do feature him in dazzling Technicolor. No, he's felt this way for a very long time, although he's always done a good job of deliberately misinterpreting his interests. Even as far back as high school, he remembers guys he'd idolized, the sinuous twists of well-toned muscles, the entrancing curve and tension of football players as they ran. He remembers the heady, astringent smell of somebody's cheap aftershave, of breathing it in and shivering in a now empty locker room.

He'd probably been the closest to coming out back then. He'd joined the cheerleaders, then started in on the theater stuff, which was basically the closest his town could come to having a GSA. At that point, he'd fielded all the shit people could throw at him, people yelling fag in a crowded hallway, muttering about him being weird and reclusive. That'd been after he'd given his first hand job, to a guy on the football team who parked his car way out beyond the practice field after the team won the homecoming game, while everybody else was going home to get ready for the dance. He'd gotten off on it himself, so bad, fucking into his own hand as he jerked the other guy off with a spit-slick palm, gasping like he was choking, desperate for it.

"Don't think this makes me a fag," the other guy'd said afterward, and, "If you tell anyone I'll fucking kill you."

"I would never," Jensen had said back, still out of breath, and later that night, when they bumped shoulders at the dance, they acted like they'd never spoken before in their lives.

After that, he'd briefly weighed the merits of owning up to the title of fag versus keeping his head down. He'd always though Mac would be fine with it, and he was proven right, a decade after the fact. She had tons of gay friends, and she mentioned them all the time when he called to ask how things were going. She was one of those easygoing people who could duck under their parents' beliefs without a second thought, completely unconcerned with what she found archaic, or just illogical. He wasn't quite as good at that, maybe some kind of oldest child syndrome. Or maybe it was just that Mac wasn't hiding anything about herself.

He'd heard his parents mutter ominously about the fact more than once, enough that he'd looked it up in the family bible one night, after everyone else was long asleep. It made his stomach knot up and his pulse run quick, and his throat felt tight, making it almost difficult to breathe as he ran a finger down the line of each damning passage. Later in life, Mac would nonchalantly tell him that she didn't believe half the insane bullshit people preached, and his hands would go painfully tight, fingernails pressing angry half-moons into his palms.

That first, fumbled high school encounter had pretty much defined his interactions with men, after that. He'd graduated to bathroom stalls, and once he got a few good acting gigs, sometimes he'd been on the receiving end of the blowjobs. He'd done the hotel room thing a few times, had been so busy jumping at every footstep or click of the air conditioner that it had not proved easy for him to enjoy. There'd even been a guy he saw regularly, back before any of the CW and its ominous morality contract. They'd never called it a relationship, or anything like that, but Jensen certainly hadn't been fucking anyone else, and there'd been all the usual butterflies in his stomach, wanted to be around him all the time, going crazy over the sex, business. The other guy'd been an actor too, so they were good on the discretion front. It'd been great for a while, disregarding the crippling guilt and anxiety he felt every time he looked at his parents or drove by a church. One really close call was all it took to break them up, though, and Jensen hasn't dared to do anything like that since then, which sucks but had still been liveable, right up until Jared went and got married. Still, thinking back on his constant state of nervous agitation back then, the comparison to now, to being allowed to have dinner in public, is almost worth the total farce of his current relationship. Almost. It's a business venture, but at least he's got someone he can tell the truth to. The hugs are nice, too. Even with Danneel's accompanying sarcasm.

The cookie timer goes off, and Jensen drags himself up with a sigh, reaching for the oven mitt.

He spends the rest of the day ensconced on the couch, watching ancient episodes of the Cosby show, part of one of the Bourne movies, he isn't sure which, and at some point dozing off during a Desperate Housewives marathon. He works his way through a few beers and some cold pizza, and a couple of the mountain of cookies he'd spent the first part of the day baking. They're actually pretty good.

The next time he wakes up, it's dark. He doesn't bother to turn any lights on, though, and closes his eyes against the glow of Nick at Night. He does this a lot when he's strung out from filming, lets himself drift off on the couch while watching mindless television. Jared likes it too, and he's spent a lot of nights curled up beside Jensen, wrapped up in a loosely crocheted burgundy throw blanket and half buried under pillows. He can almost see it, almost imagine it now, Jared close and warm beside him, chuckling and tucking a blanket up around Jensen's shoulders as Jensen shifts away from the cold air. It would be so fucking easy to close the distance, to slip under Jared's blanket and curl up against his side, to tuck his nose up against Jared's chin and get a hand caught warmly between Jared's back and the couch. Jared would chuckle again, all dark and warm, and put his arms around him, maybe even shift them so they're lying down along the length of the couch, legs tangled together.

A car door shuts loudly, out front, and he hears Danneel laugh. _Shit._. She's brought her date home, and Jensen's about to kill the mood. He leaps up, half tripping over his blankets, and turns off the television, making for the stairs even as he tosses the remote in the general direction of the couch. He hurries up the stairs, still groggy and sluggish, but he's around the corner by the time he hears the front door open, thank god. He slips into his room, then, and carefully, quietly closes the door.

He lets himself fall asleep to the continued Jared on the couch fantasy, fully aware of how very pathetic he is.

In the morning, when he shuffles blindly downstairs for his coffee, Danneel and her date are already there, sipping coffee and eating cereal with great gusto. "Hey Jen," Danneel says, waving him over. "Coffee's already made. This's Allie," she adds, gesturing at the other girl.

"Hey," Allie says, and meets him halfway for a strong, firm handshake.

"Jensen," he says in return, and retreats for coffee, turning back a moment later.

Allie's not exactly what he expected, though she's not exactly not, either. She's tall and lanky, with some sort of moderately short, shaggy haircut and a line of delicate flowers tattooed over her right arm, intricately worked into a knotwork pattern that starts at her shoulder and ends at her wrist. She's wearing lowslung jeans and a t-shirt, sipping coffee and sneaking happy glances at Danneel every few seconds. Danny's not doing too much better, and she keeps getting caught staring back, leading to much blushing and uncontrollable grins.

"Too early for cute," Jensen says plaintively. "You couldn't be distant until I get some caffeine in me? Don't think I'm gonna make it otherwise."

"You'll survive," Danneel says sweetly. "Now drink your coffee, princess."

Jensen scowls, but does as he's told. It's really the only option. "Want breakfast?" he asks, and Danneel grins and stage whispers, "Told you," at Allie.

"Or I could just make some delicious breakfast for one," he fires back.

"It'd never survive against our combined forces of hunger," Danneel says, and Jensen sighs and crosses to the cupboard for pancake supplies.

Jared was always the better cook, good at all those Texan guy foods, but breakfast was and still is Jensen's domain. He doesn't do much, just pancakes, French toast, sometimes eggs and bacon, but the motions are soothing, as are the familiar smells, the sound of spitting bacon and the feel of spreading butter on crisp toast. Plus, it's the meal that he most associates with leisurely cups of coffee, refilled countless times, and he really can't argue with that.

After breakfast, Allie murmurs something about work and gets up, rinsing her plate in the sink. Jensen already likes her better than Danneel, he thinks, as she thrusts her own plate into Jensen's hand and pulls Allie into the front hallway for what is probably vigorous making out.

"Ew," Jensen calls out irritably, and hears both of them laughing.

A moment later, he hears the door close, and then Danneel is dancing back into the room, looking rapturous. "She's _amazing_, she says happily, taking an exultant slurp of her coffee and picking at a bit of pancake.

"So it went well?" Jensen asks, shoving his glasses up his nose.

"Really well," Danneel says. "She's awesome, funny, cool with the Hollywood shit, and totally into me. We're having dinner on Wednesday, gonna catch a movie after."

"Of course she likes you," Jensen says, and drags himself up for another cup of coffee, turning away. He's happy for her, he really is, but it falls a little too close to everything he desperately wants, everything Jared is probably getting from Genevieve as they speak. His smile feels dragged downward, too heavy to look remotely sincere, so he doesn't look back over until the subject has been changed.

Danneel and Allie seem to be in agreement about each other's respective virtues, and it's not long before they're spending almost every day together. Jensen's really, truly happy for Danneel, and he likes Allie, too. She's kind and always laid back, a nice compliment to Danneel's bouncy mannerisms. She's clearly madly in love with Danny, too, which Jensen can't help approving of. At first it makes Jensen a little nervous, the two of them going out for dinners and pretentious film screenings and wandering around museums together. Danneel seems to know what she's doing, though, and Allie seems unbothered by the need for relative secrecy, once again proving how consistently calm she is.

"How do you do it?" Jensen asks her, one morning. They're sharing a pot of coffee, Danneel caught in a phone conference upstairs that seems to be lasting forever.

Allie shrugs, tipping back her coffee mug. Jensen's happy to judge people based on their feelings toward coffee, and Allie proves her worth all over again with the appreciative, stretched out way in which she takes each sip. "I really like her," she says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not like I can't introduce her to my parents or whatever, as long as things keep going well. That other shit? I can deal, if it lets me be with the person I wanna be with." She drains her mug, glancing up at the sound of Danneel finally descending the stairs. "And I do," she says, her eyes fixed on Danneel's hand sliding down the banister. "Want to be with her," she clarifies, and Jensen nods, silent. It seems so easy, when she puts it like that.

Jensen spends the rest of the morning back in bed, laying with his head turned at an uncomfortable angle so he can watch _10 Things I Hate About You_ on his laptop. "Stupid Julia Stiles," he mutters, and shakes his head, amazed at his own level of patheticness. Something's got to change, he thinks, but what?

"Okay," Jensen says, that afternoon, "Fine. Use your magical lesbian powers to fix me."

Danneel looks up guiltily from the massive plate of cookies that she and Allie are hoarding. "Uh," she says, "When we came home they were already gone?"

"Magical huh powers?" Allie asks interestedly.

"You know." Jensen waves a dismissive hand. "I need help with, uh, that stuff."

Danneel chokes on a cookie. "I'm sorry, _ that stuff_? Jenny, if you mean gay you should probably get used to saying gay.

"Hey, be cool," Allie says. She's slouched into her chair in that sort of effortlessly cool lean that Jensen's worked years to perfect, and her elbows are up on the table, her shoulders pressed forward. She pushes a crumb across the table, stopping absentmindedly to gaze over at where Danneel's tapping the cookie plate with her index finger. "It isn't easy, for a lot of people. Not their fault society sucks." She chuckles. "In a strictly heterosexual manner."

"Allie volunteers at the LGBTQ center," Danneel says, and her tone is somewhere between smug and genuinely pleased. "Thus she is nicer than me. Since you are my favorite fake boyfriend, though, we'll help you out. Tonight, top secret gay bar mission, should you choose to accept it."

Jensen leans back against the counter, and it presses a smooth, cool line into the curve of his back. "Sounds risky. Saturday night? Paps'll be everywhere."

Danneel laughs. "Everywhere but here. Don't worry, I know where to go. This place has a strict confidentiality policy. Lots of Hollywood people go there, sometimes politicians. It's pretty brilliant. Everyone's equally screwed if they get caught, so nobody can really use dirt on anyone else. No cameras, either, and they really watch for suspicious cell phone activity and stuff. Don't worry, it'll be safe. You can just chill out for a night, see how many other people there are in your situation."

"It feels good to see everyone else there, and know that you're not alone," Allie adds, and Danneel smiles and nods and shoves another cookie at her. She takes it.

The club is a lot larger and a lot more packed than Jensen expected it to be. Allie makes for the bar, waving over a mulleted bartender in a ripped up t-shirt, arms dark with tattoos. Danneel grabs Jensen by the wrist and pulls him along, waving hello to the bartender and shoving Jensen at a barstool. "Gonna go dance," she says, already heading toward Allie. "Join us if you want."

Jensen really doesn't dance, not unless copious amounts of alcohol are involved. They aren't, at least yet, so he does as directed and takes a seat, half-turned toward where Allie and Danneel are slipping deeper into the crowd of people on the dance floor, a vast tangle of people whose faces are shadowed by the flickering lights. He glances back over his other shoulder, in time to see the mulleted bartender coming his way.

"Hey," she says, and damn her cool nonchalance. It's half intimidating, half something that he's really, really jealous of. "You with Allie and Danny?" she asks, and Jensen nods.

"Oh," she says, and now it sounds a lot warmer. "I'm Theresa. Sorry, didn't mean to sound cold or anything. Those two are cool, I trust them to have cool friends. So you want a drink?"

"Um, yeah," Jensen says. "Beer. Whatever's on tap."

"Okay, one beer coming up," Theresa says. "For?"

"Jensen," he says, and she shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and a small, considering smile.

"You know, second thought, I'll have one of the boys bring it over," she says, and slips away with a wink. Jensen watches her go, blinking. All the women around him are really, unfairly smooth.

She's true to her word, and a moment later an insanely attractive guy sways over with a beer in his hand and a sly smile on his face. "Hey gorgeous," the guy says, and his voice is pleasantly warm. "Heard this is for you?"

"Yeah," Jensen says gruffly, and takes the beer. He feels a strong, sudden urge to escape, to get away before anyone sees him looking at this guy, liking the way he gazes back at Jensen through half-lidded eyes, his lips curved just slightly upward. He looks just slightly younger than Jensen, serenely confident and completely aware of how good he looks in his close-cut jeans and striped tank, everything hugging the contours of his nicely-defined body.

It takes a second of hyperventilating to realize that he's actually allowed to think these things, to notice men and maybe even to notice them looking back. He forces himself to slow his breathing to a slightly less frantic pace, taking a long, fortifying sip of his beer.

"Let me guess," the bartender says pleasantly. "First time?"

Jensen nods, and takes another shaky sip.

"Oh boy," the bartender says. "I'm gonna bring you a stronger drink."

It's not so bad, after that. Jensen stays put at the bar, but he doesn't drink too much more, enough to be loose and calm, warmth unfurling at the pit of his stomach, but not enough to be totally off his guard. He catches sight of Danneel every so often, flushed and grinning, her hair whipping around behind her as she and Allie dance. It's strange at first, seeing all the couples wandering around, guys holding hands, sometimes even kissing. It's so out in the open, so unabashed, and Jensen wonders for a moment if these people have always felt so carefree about this part of their lives, or whether any of them were ever as fucked up and conflicted as he is right now. It sets off that old, familiar ache in his chest, seeing all these people being so happy together, meeting, mingling, dancing. It's paired with a strange new feeling of optimism, though, too small and fragile to examine just yet, but just maybe a sign of something good.

Nobody asks Jensen to dance, or even tries to buy him a drink. That's good, he already feels poised to flee, and he's sure he doesn't look any less on edge than he is. It's still really good, though, to just sit and watch everything and not feel like he's lying to everyone. Just being here, sitting at this club, is an admission of a truth about himself that he's never really told anyone, and it feels really, really good.

He tells Danneel as much, sitting in the backseat while she pulls out of the parking lot a block away. They'd opted to drive on their own, instead of calling one of their drivers, out of a combination of desire for discretion, and Danneel's obsessive love for her new car. She'd even cheerfully agreed to stay sober, rather than allow anyone else to take the wheel. "I'd let you," she tells Allie, as she slips out onto the street. It's nearly deserted, given the late hour and the semi-secluded nature of the club. "But not you, Jensen," she adds. "You'd just be pissy about it and buy those stupid bullshit frozen strawberry macchiato things and ruin my car's awesome rep."

"How can your car have a rep?" Jensen asks. "Shouldn't you have the rep?"

"How'd you like the club?" Allie asks, smoothly heading off what was probably going to end up in an extreme bitchfest. She's good at spotting those.

"It was good," Jensen says quietly. "You were right. Feels good to know I'm not alone. Not that I did before," he amends. "I mean, I see you guys. But it was different to see all those other random people. I could run into one of them on the street and never know."

"Aw, we'll make a real homo out of you yet," Danneel says, pausing to matter-of-factly flick off a guy in a huge, douchey SUV. "Turn signal," she explains. "Exists for a reason."

"I thought saying homo was a bad thing." Jensen says. He doesn't want it to come across sounding hurt or uncomfortable, but he's not convinced that that works out for him.

"I'm gonna let madame gender studies cover that one," Danneel says, gliding to a stop before a red light. She works her window down, sighing as the cool, evening air drifts through the car.

"It used to be kind of wrong," Allie says thoughtfully. "I guess it still is if someone homophobic is saying it. But now we've kind of taken it back, you know?" She shrugs, her go-to gesture. "We own it. Danneel's just being a dick, though. My family never cared or anything, but I was still scared shitless when I went to my first gay bar. It was insane, all those people like me. I think it was crazy brave of you to go through with it." She smiles, calm and just the slightest bit gentle. "Just saying."

"Thanks," Jensen says, and leans back into the burgundy upholstery, surprisingly content.

**

Jared comes back into town on an overcast Thursday afternoon, smiling glibly for the cameras with Gen in tow. Jensen's waiting just beyond the security barrier, disguised as well as he can be in sunglasses and a pulled-low baseball cap.

He steps forward to meet them, reaching to help with both of their bags as he hugs Genevieve with his free arm, then lets himself be engulfed in Jared's embrace. Jared smells good, something that goes beyond his tired expression and travel-rumpled clothing. He smiles down at Jensen, so warm and sincere, and for a moment everything feels okay. Then he has to let Jared step back, though, into his own space, and the feeling retreats to somewhere deep inside his chest, a lingering, aching warmth.

"You guys hungry?" Jensen asks gruffly. He's looking straight ahead, leading the way to his car.

"Think we just wanna get home," Jared says, cheerfully apologetic. "We're beat."

Funny, Jensen's the one who feels completely defeated. It's a bit of a relief, too though, not having to immediately spend time with the painfully happy couple. "No problem," he says, careful to maintain a pleasantly detached tone. "Car's right here," he adds, and as long as they aren't scrutinizing him too hard, he probably sounds fine. And why would they be, when they've got eyes only for each other?

The car ride is fairly awkward, although Jared works to fill up the silence with anecdotes about home, and a few references to Vancouver. It's about the extent of the topics that they can all relate to. Gen occasionally comments, but is mostly quiet, and Jensen can see her in the rearview mirror, twisting her wedding band with a little smile.

Jensen drops them off at Gen's apartment with a generic smile and a vague promise to hang out soon. He watches them lope inside, then pulls out his cell phone. He sighs heavily, listening to it ring, and finally lets his cheery expression drop.

"We have to get so, so drunk tonight," he says, when Danneel answers, and hears her mutter, "Oh, Jenny," in a quiet, sad voice, just before he ends the call.

The club isn't nearly as busy on a weekday, but Jensen almost prefers it that way. Danneel and Allie wander off to hang out with Theresa, and after a moment the unfairly handsome bartender guy sidles over and sets down a drink in front of him. It's a mojito, and it's accompanied by a frankly appraising look.

"Babe," he says, "You're a hottie, but tonight you really look like shit. Drink up and tell me all about it. Boy problems?" He stares Jensen down, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against the side of the bar as he leans forward. His arms are nice, tan and lightly muscled.

"There's no boy," Jensen says, taking a sip of the mojito. "This is good. Not my usual choice." He trails a finger over the side of the glass, making a lazy, swirling pattern.

"Yeah well, it's my specialty, so deal with it," the bartender says sweetly. He leans over the bar in an unfairly slow stretch that pulls his abs taut beneath his close-cut v-neck. "So no boy, huh? Guess that means your problem's that you want there to be a boy, right?" He holds out a hand. "I'm Dylan, by the way."

"Jensen," he replies, shaking Dylan's hand with a nod, then takes another big, shaky sip. No point denying it, he's in a fucking gay bar for christ's sake, and he's definitely checking out the bartender. "Guess so. Fuck."

"Fucking Hollywood," Dylan shoots back. "Messes people up. I suggest you get drunk and forget all about your creepy inhibitions, and then maybe I'll even make out with you while I'm on my break."

"Wow, thanks," Jensen says dryly but he can't prevent the blush that heats his cheeks, or the spark of interest that accompanies it.

"Hey, you're still hot," Dylan says, and pins Jensen with an appreciative leer. "Gotta get back in the swing of things if you wanna win your man, right?"

He wanders off to the other end of the bar to pour a few shots, and Jensen just stares after him and downs his drink.

A few drinks later, Jensen's starting to panic at just how much he wants to make out with Dylan. It's not like he hasn't been hit on before. On the contrary, guys hit on him all the time, and a lot of times they're even hot. It's just that this time he's actually in a fairly safe place, and he's just so damn tired of ignoring the things he wants in favor of hiding away alone at home, while everyone around him gets on with their lives. That doesn't make his situation any less frightening, though, since he hasn't actually accepted a proposition in years. He retreats to Danneel and Allie's side of the bar, waving hello to Theresa before ducking to hiss, "I have an emergency."

"Um, what the hell?" Danneel says. "Why're you getting all national security? And why do you smell like spearmint?"

"Mojitos," Jensen says desperately, and Theresa chokes off a laugh.

"Dylan, huh?"

"_Yes_, Jensen says. "He said something about making out and now I'm all confused and he keeps winking at me, and I don't know what the _fuck_ to do."

"Which one's Dylan?" Allie asks. She's as calm and collected as usual, but even she looks blandly amused.

Theresa points. "There, the twinky one with the American Apparel and the rose tattoo."

Jensen gulps. He hadn't even noticed the tattoo, but now he can't look away from Dylan's gently flexing bicep.

"Okay," Danneel says, sounding all business. "So you're clearly into this guy, what's your deal?"

Jensen tries to curb his blush, with limited success. "I don't know," he says, slumping down with a sigh. "He's hot, but, you know, I don't wanna date him."

"Hmm," Danneel says, sounding unconvinced. She's playing with a lock of dark hair, and Allie seems entranced by it, her eyes hooded as she tosses back the last of her Jack on the rocks. "So what you're saying is, he's not Jared. You do know it's not cheating on him if you're not actually dating."

"I know," Jensen says mournfully. "I just know it wouldn't be anything. I don't know what he wants from me."

Theresa snorts, handing Allie another drink with a crisp clink of ice. "Trust me, Dylan can take care of himself. If he'd wanted to date you, he'd have asked you out for coffee or something. Basically, he told you exactly what he wants."

"To, uh, make out," Jensen says, although he's not sure how clear it is through his shaky, awkward laugh.

Allie looks back over at Dylan, speculatively. "I feel like he's probably really hot," she says, glancing back at Danneel with a slow smile. She's got a hand over Danny's and her fingertips are moving gently back and forth over her knuckles. "I mean, not like I'm an expert or anything, probably not the best crowd to be asking for advice about men."

Jensen looks over at the three of them, raising an eyebrow. It's kind of hilariously true, looking at them with their tattoos and haircuts, outfits and healthy relationships. Danneel's the only one of them who looks remotely straight, but she's all tangled up with Allie, and she can't pull her eyes away from her pulse point, so there goes that. "Ugh, you're so right." He says. "Guess I just gotta deal with it like a man."

"Uh huh," Theresa says, sounding unconvinced. "Bet that'll work real well for you."

"My friends suck," Jensen mutters, and wanders back over to Dylan. "You got a break anytime soon?"

Dylan's smile is wide and just a bit sly. "For you, baby, I'll take a break right now."  
He wipes his hands off on a dishtowel and gestures for Jensen to follow him, heading for the back of the bar and pushing open what must be the employee entrance.

Outside it's starting to get cool, the lower end of that moderate LA weather. The building lets out into an alley, and it's quiet, fenced in so there isn't even any chance of people wandering by. Dylan sighs and stretches, stepping forward to balance on the edge of the curb. "Nice out," he says appreciatively, and grins. "You look like you're about to bolt. Let me take care of this, okay?"

"Okay," Jensen says, and his voice comes out gravelly, almost cracking. Dylan grins again and turns to him, gently placing his hands upon Jensen's shoulders and bearing him back against the wall. It feels cool against his overheated body, and he sighs into it as Dylan closes the distance between them, drawing him into a slow, gentle kiss.

It's almost too much sensation, the pressure of Dylan's lips, the gentle scrape of stubble against his cheek, the contrast of his slick tongue. He smells like something deep and masculine, and Jensen can't help but shiver, overwhelmed by it. It's been a long time since he's done anything like this, and it makes him feel like a teenager again, oversensitized and more than half terrified. Jensen feels Dylan's fingers brush the nape of his neck and sighs, giving in to the touch and the kiss, and all the swirling feelings. It's good.

"Tell me about him," Dylan says, and Jensen can feel the curve of his smile against his lips. He doesn't sound at all jealous, not a bit sad, just curious and the slightest bit amused. "Come on, it's okay. You're totally pining."

"Okay," Jensen whispers, and tries to catch his breath. "He's big. Tall and strong." He trails off, biting his lip.

"Mmm," Dylan says against his neck, encouragingly.

"He's, uh," Jensen arches into the feel of Dylan's mouth on his neck, gently sucking, "He's nice to everyone, but when he smiles at me it's like nobody else even exists. And he makes me laugh when I'm too uptight or shy or whatever."

Dylan pulls away, smiling gently. "How long have you liked him?"

 

Jensen shrugs, embarrassed. "A long time. Years, I guess. Since before I even knew how to think about it."

"Honey, I'm still not convinced you know how to think about it," Dylan says, but his smile lacks mockery. "Listen, this is fun, but I think what you really need is someone to help you sort out this thing with your man."

"He's not my man," Jensen says, and Dylan laughs.

"Maybe not yet, but when I'm done with you, you'll be ready to go for anyone you want."

Jensen lets out a huff of breath. "God, why are you so nice?"

"It's my curse," Dylan says cheerfully. "Plus I have a weakness for pathetic hotties. Come on, lets go back in."

"Uh," Jensen says, and lets himself be led. "Thanks?"

He's forced to recap everything for the girls in excruciating detail, pausing for them to laugh uproariously at him, but somehow he still considers the night a success.

They have dinner with Jared and Genevieve a few nights later, at Gen's apartment. Danneel looks gorgeous in one of those one piece pantsuit romper things that Jensen doesn't really understand and Allie likes to swear about, and thank god she's more poised than Jensen because she basically keeps the conversation afloat, albeit in a sort of mean manner. Jared's sitting across from Jensen, more sober than usual in a burgundy button down, open to reveal the gentle rise and fall of his throat. He's taking liberal swigs of his beer, between bites of chicken over yellow rice. It feels odd and stilted, like they're playing house. They were never like that before, and it doesn't work now, either. Gen is awkward, aware that she's an outsider, Danneel's angry at her and Jared both for it, Jensen's lovesick and sad, and Jared is apparently oblivious to it all.

"So, how're things going now that you're all official?" Danneel asks innocently, looking straight at Gen. She's fishing for something interesting, and Jensen shoots her a swift glare.

"Things are great," Gen says, and she fucking blushes, as though she didn't fulfill enough stereotypical bride tropes already. "It's nice," she adds, and looks down at her ring, then up at Jared, who tips his beer at her and takes another swig. Danneel's smile is cold but perfect.

"Why do you hate her?" Jensen asks tiredly, afterward. They're sitting in the car, but Jensen hasn't put the key in the ignition. He feels weighted down, exhausted. It's something he always forgets when he's spent time away from Jared, that old, familiar ache that builds up deep inside him, won't let him forget every tiny moment of contact, every glance in his direction, arm brushed across his own, every kind word. It's an addiction of sorts, always there in the back of his mind, even when he's got other things to worry about.

Danneel sighs. "I don't hate her. I just think they made an insane mistake. They look happy now, I guess, but just wait. It's gonna fall apart fast. She doesn't know what she's in for."

"What do you mean?" Jensen asks. He gathers the energy, finally, and starts the car with a satisfying rumble. There's a burst of static from the radio, and Jensen fumbles to silence it.

Danneel shrugs. "Look, I don't know much about Jared, and I don't wanna get your hopes up. But I saw him with Sandy, and I've seen him with Gen, and I've also seen him with you. You're the only one he really lights up for, and it's not hard to figure out that Sandy saw it too. Whether or not Jared ever realizes it, it's still true. Gen's just different because she knew about it going in and chose to ignore it."

"Jared can be pretty compelling," Jensen says quietly.

"He can also be a huge douche," Danneel replies, and drops a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home. Allie's waiting for me to call."

"You really like her?" Jensen asks.

Danneel smiles fondly. "I really do."

"That's good," Jensen says honestly, and he smiles back at her, despite the hollow feeling in his chest. "You guys seem good together."

"It was horrifying," he tells Dylan later, and Dylan rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and drops a hand down on his hip.

"Fucking suburbia," he says, in the most scathing tone Jensen has heard him use thus far. "That sounds like hell."

"How do I get over this?" Jensen asks. He's well-aware of how desperate he sounds, but he can't quite bring himself to care.

"Wow, baby," Dylan says. "I may be awesome, but I'm not a miracle-worker. Figure out your own shit, first. Deal with the boy second. You liked making out, right?"

Jensen nods, wincing at the flush that heats his cheeks.

"Okay," Dylan says. And you know there's nothing wrong with it, right? It's okay that you enjoyed kissing me, I'm awesome at it."

"Right," Jensen says. It sounds unsure, but it's still a step in the right direction. He's actually almost talking about this, and nothing's reached down to smite him yet. "Right," he says, a little stronger, and it does make him feel a bit better, if just until the next time he thinks about Jared, smiling generically at Gen's happy expression.

Jensen goes back to baking. It's nicely time consuming, and he's not good enough at it to be able to do it while focusing on anything else. So, at least for a little while, he can keep himself occupied with numbers and measures, where the greatest indecision is if the bottom of the cake is too dark, or the cookies haven't quite set. The house is empty more often than not, Danneel and Allie taking advantage of the few free moments they have outside of a tightening filming schedule. Jensen doesn't blame them at all, in fact he's happy for them. But Jared hasn't called since their painful dinner, and honestly, Jensen isn't in the mood to see most of his friends, the ones who tease about Jared and everything but don't really know how deep it cuts.

He wants to call his mother, maybe ask for some recipes and hear some nice mundane stories about how his family's doing. He doesn't do it, though. The same old lies have a new, painful edge, and where before it just felt like it wasn't relevant to the conversation, now it's almost the only thing Jensen ever thinks about. Every word feels like a new brick in the wall he's slowly building between himself and everyone else in his family, lies about Danneel, about Jared, but most of all about himself. Answering all those usual questions about his intentions, his future, has little appeal, so Jensen finds himself searching for recipes on the internet, instead. There's a tattered cookbook, too, one that's been collecting dust on top of the refrigerator for ages.

Danneel catches him in the midst of a baking frenzy, late in the following evening. She's pouring water, two glasses, and looks rumpled and relaxed enough to make it clear what she and Allie have been up to since they got home a few hours ago. "You okay?" Danneel asks, taking a sip from one of the glasses. "This some kind of coping thing?"

"I have no idea," Jensen says, and shoves a plate at her. "Try the lemon bars."

"Misha's back in town," Danneel says. "Why don't you invite him over, hang out with someone other than your friend the baking tray?"

"By which you mean, do it or you'll make my life hell," Jensen says, through a mouthful of lemon bar. "Fuck, these are good."

"Pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to compliment you," Danneel says, grinning. "But yeah, they're awesome. Can I steal a few?"

"Totally," Jensen says. "Okay, I'll invite him over for a beer sometime soon."

Danneel beams. "Night, Jenny."

"Shut the fuck up," Jensen mutters, and shoves another lemon bar in his mouth. Fuck calories.

It's easy to see why Danneel wants him to spend time with Misha. He's one of the more liberal, uninhibited actors on the network, which makes for a refreshing change of conversation. Danneel's probably hoping Jensen will be inspired to love himself more or something, after hearing how Zen Misha's life is. He isn't so sure about that, but since he's got radio silence from Jared, he's sort of at a loss for things to do. It's never happened before in all the time they've known each other, even when Jared and Sandy were at their strongest. So, he invites Misha and his wife over, giving a generic offer of beer, catching up and crappy movies. Misha enthusiastically accepts.

They plan to meet on the following night, just the three of them. Danneel's away for a few days of intense shooting, holed up in a hotel room that adjoins Allie's. It feels good to have a reason to get dressed in more than just boxer briefs, and to straighten up the house, and it helps to ease just the tiniest bit of the weight that seems to permanently reside on Jensen's shoulders.

He takes a long shower, too, hot water pounding over the base of his aching neck as he leans into the pressure. It's been ages since he jerked off, and he starts almost automatically, one brisk stroke down the length of his generic morning erection, followed by a slower, more interested pull. He thinks of the guy from Philadelphia, filling him up so good, of the feel of Dylan pressing him up against a wall. He imagines Dylan's hand drifting down to cup him through his jeans, a sharp shock of pleasure and perhaps the tiniest hint of danger. It's nice, but it isn't as good as imagining Jared. He gives in, allows himself to imagine sinking to his knees, dragging down Jared's clothes and getting his mouth on Jared's cock, so hot and heavy and velvety smooth.

It's no good. Once he stumbles upon that image, he can't shake it until he's coming with a low, punched out noise, braced against the wall of the shower. He stays there for a long time, letting the almost too-hot water rush over his face.

Hanging out with Misha is a startling contrast to being with Jared. He's sharp, with a quick wit that's matched by his wife's. They speak fast, dropping quotes and references left and right that Jensen hears but doesn't really get. They're not unkind about it though, it has the air of a years old pace of companionship, something they're not even really aware of anymore.

They sit around and chat for a while, generic stuff about holidays and families. Misha talks expansively about Massachusetts, telling stories about his parents, the community he grew up in, and Vickie joins in. She's subtle, wry, darkly funny. Jensen can clearly see why they work so well together. Jensen puts out a plate of cookies, and Vickie shoves one in Misha's mouth before he can make a derisive remark about Jensen's homemaker skills, although he does it anyway, muffled by his mouthful of double chocolate chip.

Jensen retreats to the kitchen later, rinsing out a few beer bottles. He leans up against the counter, letting himself slump dejectedly for just a moment. He's having a good time, but Misha's exhausting, too, and it's rough to maintain his level of cheer. He hears the kitchen door swing wide behind him, followed by Misha's light step as it closes again with a soft click.

"Hey," Misha says quietly, and Jensen half turns, smiling weakly.

"Hey," he returns. "Lemme get a few more beers here, just wanted to get these cleaned up."

Misha shrugs. "No rush. Look, I'm having an awesome time, but I'm not an idiot. I know it's weird that I'm here instead of Jared, and I've worked with you guys for two years now. It's kind of obvious what's going on."

"I-" Jensen starts. He feels suddenly warm, uncomfortably so. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Misha sighs. "Look, I'm not judging. It'd be really hypocritical if I did, Vickie'd agree with that. I'm just trying to tell you that there's a reason I didn't go to Jared's wedding, okay? And I don't know about everyone else, but I'm from a hippie town, and I sure as hell don't care what makes you happy." He sighs. "Or who. I'm guessing Danneel doesn't either."

Jensen leans hard against the counter, suddenly lightheaded. "How the fuck could you know that?" he asks. It's harsher than he expected, almost a hiss.

Misha holds up his hands, disarmingly. "Hey, I'm an objective observer. I'm not saying you're being obvious or anything, you're totally not. It's just, I work with you two, I've seen the way you look at each other." He chuckles, light and easy. "Besides, my wife writes sex books."

"Okay," Jensen says quietly, and tries to will himself to breathe slow and even. "Okay."

"Hey," Misha says. "I just mean, if you need to talk about shit, Vickie really knows her shit. She kind of does this stuff all the time, you know? She thinks you're great, and she told me to let me know she's around if you need someone to talk to. Just as a friend, okay?"

"Thanks," Jensen whispers, and bites his lip, just enough to give him something to focus on, something grounding. "Beer's in the door of the fridge."

"Right," Misha says, and turns away with a smile.

Jared finally calls, about a week later. They've got a con coming up, and Jensen had resigned himself to not seeing Jared at all until then. It's a nice surprise to be wrong.

"Hey man," Jared says warmly. "It's been too long. Getting settled is a lot more crazy than it sounds. Anyway, I'm good now, lets hang out."

A repeat of their last encounter sounds excruciating, but Jensen's pulse has already picked up at the prospect of getting to see Jared. "Sure," he says, and tries to keep it casual. "When and where?"

"Your place, tonight?" Jared asks. "I'll bring the beer."

"Right on," Jensen says, and stares down at the phone as Jared disconnects. God, his straight persona sounds like a douche.

It takes about thirty seconds for him to start freaking the hell out, and another few minutes for him to gather the nerve to call Misha's wife. In the end, he calls Misha instead, mutters something about Vickie, and waits while Misha puts him on hold. It's tempting to just hang up, pretend this never happened, but that would be lame and slightly creepy, and thankfully Vickie picks up before he really has to make a decision. She sounds a little reedy over the phone, pleased to hear from him and as always, really scarily smart. "You wanna grab a coffee?" she asks briskly, and when he says yes, she shoots off the name of a coffee shop and says, "I can be there in thirty minutes."

"Sounds good," Jensen says weakly, and ends the call.

Unsurprisingly, Vickie picks a trendy, intimidating coffee-ship, the kind of place where people wear tons of black and talk about philosophy, and everyone watches the baristas coax out their espresso in a lengthy process that's apparently akin to alchemy. He always feels ill-at-ease in these kinds of places, the Texan drawl lurking at the edges of his speech and threatening to give him away as not quite smart enough or artsy enough to be in a place like this. Vickie seems entirely unphased by the place, though, and she orders coffee for both of them in the sort of swiftly clipped tone that indicates she's been here many times before.

She waves him away when he tries to pay, shooing him back to a secluded corner table and following a few moments later with the coffee in hand. Setting his down before him, she slides into the chair across from his and takes a tiny sip of her own before lacing her hands together in front of her on the table. "So," she says. "You seeing him tonight?"

"How'd you know?" Jensen asks. He stares down at his hands, wrapped around his paper cup, then Vickie's, pale and slender and graceful.

"You called," she says simply. "What's worrying you about it?"

Jensen considers several tactful half-lies, but in the end, gives in and goes with the truth. "Haven't seen him in ages," he says. "Last time didn't go so well. Guess maybe I was hoping I'd see him with his wife and it would break the spell or something. Didn't work, though, and now I just have to live with it."

"Go on," Vickie said, raising an eyebrow, and Jensen does. He says a lot more than he intends to, some of it about tonight, some about falling for Jared in the first place. Vickie's mostly quiet, but she seems completely engaged with what he's saying, not at all bored. "Break the spell," she says finally. "I don't think there is any spell. There's nothing insidious about it, you just like him. That's not wrong of you."

"I guess," Jensen says. "But it feels unfair, since he doesn't know about me."

She nods. "So you feel like you're hiding part of yourself from him, and he might be upset about that if he knew?"

Jensen shrugs. "I guess so. Not like I really feel like telling him right now, but yeah. I guess."

Vickie purses her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I think it's none of his business unless you want it to be. But if you decide you do want to tell him, I'd be happy to help you figure out how to bring it up. You know, if you want."

Jensen nods, surprised to find that his coffee is long-finished. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks."

"Of course," Vickie says, and when she leans over the table to shake his hand, her smile is warm. "Like I said, you're doing nothing wrong, okay? I think it's really brave of you to be thinking over all these things. Just don't feel like there's any rush here. You've already done more than tons of people do in their whole lives."

Jared comes over around eight, bearing a vast quantity of beer and a goofy grin. He looks shockingly tan against the off-white walls, lounging around in a ratty t-shirt and faded jeans. For the first few moments, it's just that, Jensen staring and wondering just when he forgot how to talk, but then Jared takes a swig of his beer and leans back into the couch, patting the seat beside him. "C'mon," he says happily. "Tell me what you been up to."

Jensen sits, a little gingerly, and puts his own beer down on the coffee table. "Well," he starts, "I guess I've been learning how to bake."

"Really?" Jared's face lights up. "You got anything? I think it's important that I judge your work."

Jensen flushes a little, despite his best attempts to stay cool. "Think I got some cheesecake left," he says, and Jared shoves him companionably.

"Get it," he says, and shoots Jensen a beseeching look, all wide eyes and trembling lip.

"You look fucking ridiculous," Jensen says, and gets up to get the plate.

They end up eating directly from the cake-plate, not bothering to cut their own slices. It's great, some lame sitcom providing white noise in the background, as they lay into the beer supply with more gusto than Jensen's felt in ages. Jared seems happy too, laughing big and loud at everything, and occasionally accenting a point with a hand to Jensen's shoulder, or a tap on his knuckles when Jensen reaches for another bite of cheesecake. They end up facing one another, sideways on the couch with the plate between them, held aloft together.

"So how've you been, man?" Jensen says, a few beers later. "I mean, _really_."

Jared ducks his head and laughs, dropping his fork to run a hand through his hair. "Good and bad, you know? Fucking _married_."

Jensen stiffens, but tries not to make it too obvious. "Yeah, how's that going?"

Jared shrugs, reaching for a fresh beer. He points, questioningly. "You want one?" Jensen nods, and Jared opens it for him and hands it over. "Things were cool at first, but we've been fighting a lot lately. Kinda sucks, actually. Hard to remember how it felt before that."

"How did it feel?" Jensen asks. His throat is suddenly dry, and he tips up his beer, spilling it in the general vicinity of his open mouth.

Jared shrugs, watching Jensen nurse his beer. His eyes flick briefly downward, resting somewhere around the level of Jensen's sweat-damp throat. "I guess it made me feel strong, you know? Big, and like a real man or whatever. Protecting. Now it's starting to feel different, though."

"Different?" Jensen repeats.

"I don't' know," Jared says. "Maybe it just takes time to adjust." He shrugs again, a slower, almost resigned motion, looking down at the decimated remains of the cheesecake. "Can I have that piece?"

"Yeah," Jensen says softly, and chances a glance up at Jared's expression. "It's all yours."

After that, he sees a lot more of Jared. It falls back into the same old rhythm, spending way too much time together, being inappropriately physical at Cons, and generally keeping Jensen up all night, trying to read Jared's insane signals. In some ways, it gets easier, getting used to the fact that Jared's married to Gen, and Jensen gets pretty good at not flinching whenever someone brings it up. Misha doesn't seem entirely convinced, but Jared seems to buy it, which is the most important thing.

It's still occasionally awkward, though, moments when Jared admits he's been fighting with Gen, or when he asks about Jensen's love life. He knows Danneel and Jensen were pushed together by the network for the sake of everyone's reputations, but he's never pressed for details about if any of their relationship is real. Now, though, he's starting to seem curious. Jensen doesn't want to say anything about Danneel unless she okays it, but it gets harder and harder to steer Jared away from the topic without outright lying.

He mentions it to Danneel one night. She's back from a late call, but Allie hasn't arrived yet, and Danneel's lounging around in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, her socks emblazoned with Christmas trees. She's got a hand curled around a mug that smells strongly of orange spice tea, and she sips at it slowly, gratefully, before looking over at Jensen, where he's sprawled out on the other end of the couch drinking a beer.

"Didn't seem like this bothered you before," she says. She cards her fingers through her shower-damp hair, pulling it back into a messy ponytail. "What's different now? Is it because he's married, or is he acting different about it or something?"

Jensen shrugs, getting up to switch out the empty beer bottle for a whiskey. "All of the above, I think. Plus I didn't wanna think about it at all, myself, so it wasn't hard to pretend it didn't exist. I was mainly just worried about being convincing, you know?"

Danneel nods, watching him toss back his first swallow of whiskey with a grimace. "It's Monday night, baby, you having a party for one?" She puts up her hands at his glare. "Just saying. So you aren't worried about being convincing now?"

Jensen shrugs again, dragging over a throw blanket and curling up under it, his feet tucked up under his thighs. "I don't know, it's starting to drive me insane that I don't get a choice about it. I mean not like I totally want to, that sounds terrible. But you know, that it's just not a choice."

Danneel's look is carefully piercing. "I asked you about this when the network first pushed us together, and you wouldn't tell me anything at all, just kept saying you were a real man. Dude, it took me like, ages to get you to admit you didn't like girls. I mean, what the hell changed?"

Jensen takes another swallow, hissing at the burn. It feels nicely fortifying, setting alight a warm buzz in the pit of his stomach. "Supernatural's not gonna last another season," he says quietly. "I mean, how could it? And I'm getting older. Always before I thought if I got successful enough I could just do whatever I wanted, or it would be worth it or whatever. You know how my family feels about that shit, I was hoping if I could get somewhere where it'd be impossible to act on, maybe I wouldn't want it as much anymore."

Danneel snorts. "Yeah, because that always works so well for politicians."

Jensen sighs. "I was like sixteen, okay? I didn't wanna get kicked out of my house. I still don't wanna get disowned. You're right though, it didn't work. I just ended up feeling more terrible about lying to everyone, and it destroyed everything I tried to have. Guess I'm just getting tired of it, especially now that-" he hesitates, "-some people around me are getting married."

Danneel sets down her mug, sounding a sharp click against the coffee table. "Yeah," she says quietly, and leans closer, letting him wrap an arm around her. "That's rough."

"How do you do it?" he asks, ducking his head. He can smell Danneel's shampoo, something fresh and flowery.

"I'm an actor," Danneel says. "Duh. Anyway, if you feel creepy about lying to Jared, tell him the truth. You can say I know, if you want to. I mean, no pressure, but if it would make you feel better, just talk to him."

"Fuck," he breathes, slow and drawn-out. "I'm fucking scared."

"Well I'm not saying it's easy," she replies. "But you're the one that's got to figure that out."

The doorbell sounds, startlingly loud in the quiet, darkening living room. "Go on," Jensen says. "I'm fine."

Danneel doesn't say anything, but her dubious expression speaks volumes.

After that, it's the only thing Jensen can think about when he sees Jared. They're hanging out pretty regularly again, and in some ways it's actually a nice break from Jensen's usual agonizing, from the shivery, nervous feeling he gets when Jared leans over and brushes crumbs off the front of Jensen's t-shirt, or drops a hand on his knee while chuckling over a joke. He's quiet whenever Gen comes up, but otherwise is affectionate, always watching Jensen. Jensen feels constantly on edge, wondering how transparent it is that he's hiding something. It's always in his head, memories of Dylan sighing sweetly against his mouth, but he can't imagine saying any of it out loud. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror at night and tries, but finds that he can't even think it, much less force out the words. Every day it gets a little closer to the surface, though, the words slowly forming in his head like they're coming into focus, like putting his glasses on in the morning and blinking until the world emerges.

He tries to do it countless times. There's a few nights when they get distracted by conversation and completely lose the thread of whatever game they were watching. Other times, they've drifted off to silence, warm and drowsy. There's a morning where Jared leans into him before a convention, hung over from a too-late night. "You're stronger than you look," he murmurs woozily, and Jensen smiles, hands him a bottle of water, and thinks, _maybe soon_.

"Where's your wife?" one of the fans calls out, and Jensen tries not to notice how Jared's face falls. He's good, repairs it almost instantly, and calls back, "Still asleep," with one of his bashful head-ducks.

It almost happens, then, when Jared shows up stormy-faced and more than a little drunk, looking tired and unhappy. Jensen lets him in, but he's barely got the door closed before Jared's wrapping his arms around Jensen, drawing him into a weary hug. "Hey," Jensen says. It comes out muffled, pressed against Jared's t-shirt clad chest. "You okay?"

Jensen draws in a slow, shaky breath. "Yeah," he murmurs, and Jensen can almost feel Jared's mouth against his ear, his breath cool. "Yeah, just the same stuff. I feel so fucking terrible. It's like we can hardly stand to be around each other anymore."

Jensen sighs, pressing his palm flat against Jared's side. He's been aware for a long time that his feelings for Jared go beyond the norm, as far as crushes, attractions, whatever else. It's strange, to feel like every moment he spends with Jared is like being at home, in a place where he's safe and comfortable, not worried about his appearance, his mannerisms, his weird, picky eating habits. Jared's don't bother him either, even though he's got plenty of annoying features of his own. But somehow, standing in his doorway, hugging Jared, is a lot sexier, and also a lot more frightening, than actual sex he's had with a number of other people. It's something he's known for a while, but it still overwhelms him, always combined with a sort of sad resignation.

"You ever feel this way?" Jared says. It's unusually serious, for him. "Like you can't connect with someone, like you're alone even when you're with someone?"

Jensen sucks in a quick breath. It would be so easy to say, yeah of course, obviously, all the time, but maybe saying it while Jared's having a crisis isn't exactly the best time. "You guys were so happy before you got married," he says carefully. "Weren't you?"

Jared shrugs, a motion that feels vast in their unusually intimate position. "I guess we barely knew each other. You know, I feel so fucking stupid because everyone was warning me about this. It just seemed like a good idea at the time, and she liked me so much, everything about me. It felt good to be liked like that. Nobody else acts that way about me except you."

Jensen shifts uncomfortably, breaking the embrace. "You sayin' I like everything about you? Not even close." He steps back, gesturing toward the living room. "I'll get beer, find something to watch." Yeah, admit you're in love with your best friend right now. Great idea.

When he finally works up the nerve to say something, Jared and Gen seem to be in an unusually calm stretch. Jensen's been admittedly insufferable to everyone, namely Danneel, who has tried everything from positive thinking to insulting to throwing low-grade projectiles such as recently baked goods. She'd finally given up and stomped off to spend the weekend at Allie's, telling Jensen to call when he got done feeling hormonal.

In the end, he feels strangely calm about the whole thing. He calls Jared and asks him to stop by for pizza, citing an honest craving, and Jared immediately agrees.

He shows up an hour later, bearing a few boxes of pizza propped up on his shoulder, a six pack in his other hand. He pushes past Jensen with a friendly brush of the shoulder, dropping down on the couch and laying out the pizza. Jensen follows, handing over a pair of paper plates and the bottle opener.

"The game?" Jared asks, and Jensen nods, reaching for the remote. Jared beats him to it and grins brightly, reaching to open the pizza box and trying to pull free a slice.

"Whoa, hang on," Jensen says, and Jared's hand stills, the cheese dripping dangerously. Jensen slides a careful hand under his, wincing at the heat, and slowly separates it from the adjoining pieces. "There we go," he says quietly, and draws his hand free.

"Thanks," Jared says, laughing. There's something strange about it, almost shaky, although Jensen isn't certain why. He licks pizza sauce off his hand, absentmindedly, and feels heavy with the weight of Jared's gaze.

"Let's watch," Jensen says briskly, and sinks back onto the sofa cushion. _Not yet_, he thinks, _but tonight_.

An hour or so later, Jared is relaxed into the couch, one hand lazily clasped around his beer, the other stretched across the back of the couch. Jensen's been having trouble concentrating all night, but now it's to the point where he's missing everything that happens on the tv, everything that Jared says. It's time. Jared looks comfortable, happy, his features entirely unfettered, and Jensen has a sickening suspicion that he's about to change that entirely. He sighs, takes a shaky breath, and puts down his beer. It's not gonna get any easier. He feels a little nauseous, his pulse suddenly buzzing. "Jay, there's something I been meaning to talk to you about."

Jared reaches for the remote, turning down the volume on the game. He still looks entirely serene, running a hand through his hair. "What's up, man?"

Jensen takes a shaky breath. "Look, I don't want you to think I've been hiding anything from you, but I've been trying to come to terms with it myself, and you're gonna be the first person I ever tell it to. So, um," he exhales heavily, stomach churning. "I'm gay." He finishes it on a nervous sound, almost a giggle. It's out there now, no taking it back. His palms are sweat-slick, making his fingers slide over the edge of the coffee table. He can't look up.

"It's okay, man," Jared says finally. "Did you think I would care? It's cool by me." His voice sounds strained, but when Jensen finally gathers the courage to look up, his face is unmarred, his posture still relaxed. Maybe he imagined it. Then again, he thinks, as Jared turns the volume back up and turns back to the game, maybe not.

"Okay," Jensen breathes, barely audible, and clenches his hands tight against his sides.

It becomes quickly apparent that things are not okay. Jared is still friendly, but there's something newly distant about it, like Jared's up on a stage at a Con or talking to a reporter or something. It's awful, but Jensen can't exactly call him out on it. Hey, I'm upset because you're clearly not cool with my gayness. Yeah, not super helpful.

"I really want to kick his ass," Danneel says, "But you know, not everyone's as awesome as me. Maybe you just have to give him some time, let him get used to it."

"Yeah, okay," Jensen says, and doesn't mention that while he's been trying to give Jared time, Jared's been slowly inching away from him, canceling on all their plans and coming up with reasons to not be anywhere near him. He'll just give it some more time.

Jensen doesn't hear much about how Jared and Gen are doing, but Danneel comes home from work with occasional news, stuff she's heard from friends and acquaintances, and it doesn't sound good for them. The fighting's getting worse, longer and angrier and with less and less resolution. It hasn't even been six months, so people are more than happy to gossip about it. Jensen has mixed feelings about that, annoyed that people are speaking ill of Jared, and by extension Gen, but also glad to have some idea of what's going on.

He spends a few more evenings with Misha, sometimes talking it over, sometimes ignoring it in favor of safe, mundane topics. Misha makes him watch pretentious shit, old plays he taped off PBS in the early '90's. He has to bring along his own VCR and scramble around on the floor connecting the cables. Jensen sits back with a beer and laughs, and for a few seconds he doesn't think about anything else.

"You don't actually need to give him time," Vickie points out later. "You're a hottie, if you don't mind my saying so."

Misha nods earnestly. "You could absolutely get out there and find someone. It's not like you owe Jared anything. There's so many people in the world who're totally okay with this stuff."

Jensen sighs, dropping his head into his hands. "Believe me, it'd be way easier. I sometimes wish I could just forget about him. Not that easy."

"We understand that," Vickie says quietly, and Misha's answering smile is small but warm.

It's April when Jared shows up again. Danneel answers the door, and Jensen hears her jogging up the stairs two at a time from the bathroom, where he's stepping out of the shower. "Open up," she calls, rapping unceremoniously on the door.

Jensen grabs at a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He's still dripping wet, and half blind without his glasses. It's a Saturday, so he hadn't bothered with contacts.

"It's Jared," Danneel says briskly. She's in gym clothes, leggings and a muscle shirt, her hair pulled back in a slick ponytail. "He has a duffel bag."

"Shit," Jensen says. "Okay, let him in."

"You sure?" Danneel says. "Way things are right now, I feel fine about telling him to go away."

Jensen gropes around for his glasses, fumbling until Danneel takes pity on him and places them over his ears. "Thanks," he says, blinking a few times. "Look, if he's trying to stay here, maybe things'll get less awkward. I'd love if we could get back to something like the kind of friendship we used to have."

Danneel nods, but she doesn't look convinced. "And if he does something shitty?"

Jensen curves his lips into some semblance of a grin. "Then you have my permission to kick his ass out."

"Okay," Danneel says, pursing her lips. "But you go let him in, he's been standing outside for a while."

Jensen nods, dropping a hand to hold his towel steady. "I hate you," he mutters, and descends the stairs.

Jared's leaned up against the porch column, duffel bag at his feet, when Jensen opens the door and gestures him in. "Hey," he says, trying for casual. "I just got out of the shower, but come in. You can tell me what's up after I get dressed."

"Thanks man," Jared says, and his eyes track consideringly over Jensen's chest. He's smiling, but the look in his eyes is unreadable. "It's been too long," he adds, and Jensen turns back and nods, already halfway up the stairs. It really has.

Jensen comes back down in jeans and a polo shirt, rubbing a hand through his damp hair. "Okay," he says. "So tell me what's up."

Jared looks up at him from his seat in the kitchen, a slow, arresting gaze. "I think it's over between me and Gen," he says finally. It has the air of something he wasn't sure of for himself, until he said it aloud. "We haven't talked about it yet, but it looks pretty clear."

"Shit, man," Jensen says. He reaches for the counter, leans up against it in search of support. "What happened?"

"That's the worst part," Jared says. He cuts off with an ugly, choked laugh. "Nothing real even happened. Pretty sure it just wasn't real from the start. Just leftover feelings from our characters. Shit, I'm such a dumbass."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Jensen says. He knows he's going to regret it even before he says it, but it's not like he has much of a choice. Jared's his friend, first and foremost. "You can stay here for a while, if you need to. Only I don't know how Danneel'll feel about the dogs."

"They're with my parents," Jared says, and then, "Yeah, I need to. Thanks." He folds his hands up on the kitchen island, staring down at the countertop. "So, how's your lovelife? Seeing anyone?" It sounds a little uncertain, but not disapproving, which is more than Jensen can even say for himself, so it must be a step.

"My lovelife?" he returns. "Nonexistent. Not seeing anyone."

"Oh," Jared says, slow and hesitant. "Well, why?"

Jensen laughs, and it comes out sharper than he intended. "I don't really do that," he says.

Jared raises a hand at him, a singular gesture that's somewhere between _why_ and _go on_.

"Well first of all, I wanna keep my job," Jensen says. "Second of all, I'm scared my family will disown me. And third, I can barely even say the words, much less ask someone out on a date."

"But you would?" Jared asks, "If you felt more comfortable, you'd ask-" he hesitates. "People?"

"Doesn't really matter," Jensen says, and gets up to make a pot of coffee.

Danneel makes herself scarce, going away to some ultra-exclusive place in Palm Springs with Allie. She tells Jensen to call if he needs anything, and that she'll be back in a little over a week. Jared gets nothing but a long, pointed glare and a command to not fuck anything up. He takes it in stride, being good-natured as ever.

It's kind of nice having the house free of Danneel, who isn't nearly OCD enough about the dishes, and has been known to claim large portions of the house for extended sex sessions, thus quarantining Jensen in the kitchen, the laundry room, or other equally tiresome locations. However, Danneel is always the one who answers the telephone, so in her absence Jensen's forced to do it instead. That's how he ends up picking up when Gen calls.

It's a Saturday morning, the day before Danneel's due back, and Jensen's fumbling around trying to get the coffee started. Jared's not up yet, and the kitchen is much quieter than usual, pre-traffic and lacking in Danneel's usual pleasant chatter. When the phone rings, it's harsh, jarring him out of his half stupor and causing him to send the coffee grounds flying to the ground. He curses, reaching for the phone before bending down to try and save as much of the coffee as possible. "H'lo?" he mumbles, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, his head tilted uncomfortably to hold it in place.

"Hey," he hears, a female voice that sounds stilted, uncomfortable. "It's Gen."

He's been half-expecting to hear from her, but it still makes his stomach feel unpleasantly tight. "Hey." He says, trying for casual. "Jared's not up yet, but I can tell him to call you."

"No," Gen says, a tinny bite to her voice. "I called to talk to you."

"Okay," Jensen says nervously. "What's up?" He stares at the coffeepot, watching it fill up with a slow drip.

"Look," Gen says. "You probably don't know why Jared and I are breaking up, but I thought you should know it's about you."

The coffee smells good, rich and dark, and Jensen breathes it in heavily as he considers a reasonable response. He settles on, "What?" Not eloquent, but solid.

"Yeah," Gen says, and laughs sharply. It sounds ugly, harsh against the morning stillness. "He doesn't maybe know it, but he's fucking crazy about you. I finally told him he had to choose who he really wanted to be with, and he went apeshit. I didn't think it was even gonna be a choice, I mean I'm his fucking wife."

"I'm sorry," Jensen says. It comes out as a whisper, unintentionally. "He didn't tell me that."

"Yeah he wouldn't," Gen says bitterly. "But it's the truth." She sighs, sounding older than she really has a right to. "Look, just get in touch with Sandy. Ask her why she really broke up with Jared, okay?"

Jensen swallows, watching the coffee slow to a simmer. "Yeah," he says finally. "Okay."

He's thought about calling her before, more than once. He's always sort of wondered what happened with Jared's idyllic relationship, and hated the persistent thought that Jared could've done something truly terrible, something that ended it. Every time before, though, it was just another idle fantasy, or sometimes nightmare. Now it's out in the open, now he's promised, and now he decides, it's time.

Sandy was always a pretty early riser, so Jensen figures he has time to look her up and have a chat before Jared wakes up. It's actually way easier than expected, since she still has the same phone number she did when she and Jared were dating, and Jensen is too lazy to ever clean out his phonebook. He calls before he really has a chance to think about it, so the nervous, queasy feeling doesn't really set in until Sandy picks up on the second ring.

"Jensen," she says, sounding surprised but not necessarily upset. "This is a weird surprise."

"Hey Sandy," he says, and pauses, considering his words. It's just another of those times when he wishes he had a cue card. "I need to ask you something about Jared."

Sandy sighs. "Okay, I expected this call to happen like a year ago, but go ahead."

"Look," Jensen says softly. "When you guys split up, I never really asked, but I heard a lot of people saying he cheated. Is that what happened?"

He can hear Sandy breathing, slow and steady. It's almost reassuring.

"He didn't cheat," Sandy says finally. "Not exactly. But I could see that if he had the chance, he might have. And his interest definitely wasn't in me."

"Okay," Jensen says slowly. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Jensen, you dumb shit," Sandy says. "I'm telling you all he ever cared about was you. All he ever wanted was to hang out with you, go to dinner with you, stare soulfully at you. He had no idea I even existed when you were around. At first it was okay, but then when I got to know you, I saw you were looking back, and that's when I got worried. I mean, it's one thing for someone you're with to notice other people. It's another fucking thing to know that they're in love with someone else who's totally in love with them too. Not the recipe for an ideal relationship, okay?"

He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he's silent for a long moment, still staring at the coffee. "Okay," he says finally. "Thank you. And I'm sorry, really."

"I know you are," Sandy says. "So please just make it count."

He doesn't say anything to Jared about the revelatory phone calls. They've got a promo party that night, something that requires both of them to show up and be clean-cut and wholesomely charming, alongside Misha and a few other cast members. Afterward, they'll no doubt go get truly drunk, and he doesn't want any of the evening's activities to get awkward, especially since he's not completely sure how creepy it was to call Sandy without saying something to Jared first.

The day crawls slowly by, marked by too much coffee and too little food, as is Jensen's usual pre-publicity freakout routine. Jared laughs at him, but also takes away the coffee and makes Jensen promise to eat something after they're done being interviewed by the usual rags.

In the early evening, Jensen puts on his publicist-approved suit, immersing himself in the mundane actions of tucking, zipping, tying his tie. The suit's charcoal gray, and his white shirt looks crisp and clean against it. In the mirror, he looks pale and uncomfortable, his default expression when faced with publicity events.

Jared taps on the door and enters, not really waiting for a reply. "Hey," he says softly, and Jensen can see him in the mirror, passing a carefully appraising glance over Jensen's back. He shifts restlessly, and Jared steps forward, adjusting the collar of Jensen's shirt under his jacket.

"Thanks," Jensen says, and resists the urge to lean into Jared's touch. He's very close, close enough that Jensen can feel the heat of his body just behind his own, almost brushing up against him.

"No problem," Jared murmurs, then clears his throat. "The car's downstairs."

The promo event is just as excruciating as Jensen had expected it to be, everyone wandering around trying to be charming while the reporters snatch them away for a battery of inane questions. Jensen stays close by Jared's side, riding on his easy banter and big, friendly smiles. There's a few CW execs caught up in the mix, too, and Jared turns on the southern charm full force, turning bashful and self-effacing, just the way they like. He's been doing this for a decade, no surprise that he knows exactly how to play them, by now.

By the time they're called over to the reporters, the event's almost over. The more mundane questions get asked of the first run in interviewees, guest stars, writers, and some of the crew. After that, it's recurring characters like Misha, Jim Beaver and Samantha Ferris. That's all done, now, and the usual battery of questions starts up. "What can we expect from Sam and Dean next season? How does it feel, working together for another year? So Jared you're married now, Jensen, when're you going to tie the knot?"

He chuckles at that one. "You'll just have to wait and see," he says.

The reporter is undeterred. "I see neither of your ladies could make it here tonight. This is a pretty big event. Why aren't they here? Trouble in paradise?"

Jensen glances over at Jared, uncomfortable. Jared's jaw is set, and his expression is quickly darkening. It's not good, Jared's usually the one who glosses over inappropriate questions, not letting anything sit long enough for a reporter to get too suspicious. This is already over the line, though, and Jensen has no idea what to say to make it better.

"Nah, they just have the good sense to be meeting us at the afterparty," he hears, and then an arm drops down over his shoulder from behind. Misha. Jensen lets out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding, thankful for the unexpected respite of Misha's glib lie. It cuts the tension, and he's able to collect himself, adding, "They've got their own careers, but we sure do miss them when they're not around."

Jared's face still looks set and displeased, unsettlingly far from his usual infallible interview demeanor. Misha seems to notice it too, and he leans companionably close, whispering, "Lets get out of here." Jensen nods, and cups a hand behind Jared's elbow, dragging him along.

Jared doesn't say anything during the ride over to the bar, and inside, he heads straight for the bar, flagging down the bartender with an insistently raised arm.

Jared drinks steadily throughout the night, and with the sort of purposeful, set expression he gets when he decides that being sober just isn't an option. He's doing pretty well at that whole shitfaced thing already, after they've been at the bar for just about an hour, and as he gently lists from side to side, his hip brushes Jensen's. It's a rough brush of heavy fabric against the hem of Jensen's half-untucked dress shirt, his jacket long since tossed over the back of a chair. Jared's so fucking tall, Jensen thinks, and rubs a clammy hand against his own thigh.

A few minutes later, Jared leaves to acquire more liquor. Jensen doesn't even have a chance to feel cold at his sudden absence before Misha's weaving in to fill the space. He's utterly drunk too, in that space where he always starts telling extravagant stories about his life and basically hitting on everyone in sight, often both at once. Jensen has to admit that Misha's got a strangely magnetic pull. He's so clearly comfortable in his skin, and although he's unabashedly conceited, he's always totally honest about what he wants, about he and his wife's arrangement and their house rules, and that generally all he wants is a good fuck. He has no doubt that Vickie has the same appeal, when she's looking for something or someone.

Misha smells good, all tucked up against Jensen. It's another talent he has, getting all tucked up into another person's space before they have any idea what's happening. There's something almost appealing about being the bigger, stronger person for once, and the warm weight of Misha curled against him feels pleasantly uncomplicated.

Misha leans in close, one arm resting low and easy on Jensen's hip. There's just a hint of whatever he's been drinking lingering on his breath, something faintly sweet.

"Better watch out, Jenny boy," Misha says, and he does a fairly good job of hiding his slight slur. "Jared's lookin' feisty tonight. Listen, Vickie said to talk to you." He leans closer, close enough that he could almost be going in for a kiss, and Jensen is struck by the fact that he can find Misha attractive and still not be at all interested in that. His crush on Jared is apparently pretty much all-consuming. "Listen," Misha repeats, drunkenly earnest. "I've been there with straight guys. They always regret it afterward. Don't want you getting hurt, Jenny."

"It's not like that," Jensen starts, and then Jared's behind them and he's not even trying to hide the way he's firmly shouldering Misha out of the way. He clasps an arm firmly around Jensen's shoulders, and Misha shoots him a worried half frown. He turns away anyway, glancing around before wandering off in the general direction of a group of laughing prop people.

"I don't like him touching you," Jared says. He's definitely drunk, but not so drunk that he's incoherent.

Jensen shrugs, an inward motion. "I'm not into him like that," he says quietly, and stares down at the hardwood floor.

"Lets get out of here," Jared says flatly, and Jensen nods and calls for a car, trying to keep his voice steady and clear.

The drive isn't too long, but it feels like it, silent and tense. Jensen's vastly grateful to end up back in his kitchen before too long, tossing back a glass of tap water. Jared follows him in, standing with a hand pressed down on the counter. "It makes me crazy," Jared murmurs, "When people touch you."

Jensen half turns, raising an eyebrow. "You touch me all the time," he says matter-of-factly, and then Jared's up in his face, wrapping his hands around Jensen's wrists.

"Yeah," he breathes. "_I_ touch you like that. Not anybody else."

It's one of those moments that should feel way bigger than it is, everything hanging in delicate balance, entirely ready to crack under the strain. "That doesn't really seem fair," Jensen tries.

"Don't care," Jared says forcefully, and he loses half the clarity of it on a shaky gasp as he pushes into Jensen's space, pushing Jensen back against the counter as he leans in to roughly kiss him.

"It makes me crazy," Jared murmurs again. He pulls back just far enough to knot his hands up in Jensen's already rumpled shirt, then pulls him back in. Jensen goes, drawn half by the burn of the taut fabric against his neck, half by the insistent warmth of Jared's slick, parted lips. He tastes of tequila, verging on sour alongside the faint shock of salt along his gumline. Jensen, Jensen likes it all, especially being pressed up against the hard line of Jared's chest, letting out breaths that somehow metamorphosize into groans.

Jensen's pictured getting fucked by Jared many times, but never quite like this. He's imagined it as frantic, yeah, but still careful, the combined results of five plus years of solid friendship and attraction. He's imagined it being almost worshipful, long stretches of time bleeding deliciously together in a pattern of sighs and gasps and little shuddering smiles. He's pictured Jared okay with his own happy laughter, stopping to kiss over and over again, sweet and hard and desperate against Jensen's thigh. Well that last part, at least, is true.

Jensen sighs and gasps up into it. He loves it all, the weight of Jared, the way his eyes go dark and slitted with pleasure when Jensen rolls his hips. He moans, trying to pull back so he can better see Jared's reactions, but Jared doesn't allow it. He bears down, grinding their bodies roughly together, not allowing for any loss of contact.

At first, Jensen thinks they might not get any farther than this fierce rutting. He doesn't care; all he wants to do is collapse back against the counter and let it happen. Jared feels so good on top of him, big and strong and unbelievably turned on. His arms are taut, straining as he holds Jensen's hips up at the angle he wants, and Jensen feels the ache of a blossoming bruise where Jared's kisses turn to bites. He makes a sloppy line of them along the top of Jensen's neck and the delicate underside of his chin.

He's getting close to coming embarrassingly quickly, so when Jared drags him up and off the counter, it forces a wail out of him, small and high and undignified. Their bodies stay painfully, deliciously flush as Jared manhandles him over toward the stairs, their limbs tangling awkwardly as they both try to move, still forcing their bodies together. It all runs together, the air feeling tight in Jensen's chest as Jared pushes him up the stairs backwards, making harsh noises as their erections slide together beneath their jeans with each step.

"Fuuuck," Jensen grits out, long and shaky, and then they're in his room and Jared's pushing him down on the bed before standing back up to strip off his button-down and undershirt. He reveals a vast expanse of toned muscle and ridiculously tanned skin, taut abs and strong, broad shoulders.

Jared gestures impatiently and Jensen does the same, removing his shirt with shaky hands. The fabric clings to him, cloyingly warm, and he shifts free of it uncomfortably, sweat beading on his forehead.

"More?" he asks nervously, and Jared nods, biting his lip. He watches Jensen's hands intently as he works his belt free and wrestles the button of his fly open, lifting his hips up to try and drag down his trousers. Jared drops down onto the bed to help then, hooking his fingers under the elastic of Jensen's boxer briefs and pulling, his knuckles dragging over Jensen's thighs in a shivery trail of sensation.

"Fuck," Jared mutters. He's gazing down at Jensen's erection. He'd obviously been able to feel it before, Jensen assumes, but apparently seeing it is different, as Jared stops for a moment and just stares, licking his lips and pressing a hand against his clad erection.

He's still wearing pants, and this touch seems to remind him. He works the fly free, shoving off his jeans and underwear in one layer, and then he's half leaning over Jensen to wrap a firm hand around the length of Jensen's erection. He strokes down the length of him and then over the head, sucking in a breath when his palm encounters the slick pre-come pooling at the slit of Jensen's dick. He draws his hand away, looking down at it almost reverently before returning to jerk Jensen off with long, smooth strokes.  
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Jensen's hips piston upward at the renewed contact, and he yelps at the rush of pleasure. "Jay, stop," he manages, panting it out between harsh, choked out moans. "Not gonna last."

"Shit," Jared breathes, staring down at him. He's fisting his own erection absentmindedly, and he looks darkly pleased, probably the product of drunken lasciviousness. "Wanna fuck you," he says, and his eyes are glittering. "Got stuff?"

Jensen can't hide the way his erection jumps at that idea, even though it's accompanied by a sickening rush of nervousness. He hasn't done this in a long time, and Jared's dick looks intimidatingly big, flushed dark and heavy with arousal.

"Yeah," he manages finally, "Think so." He rolls over, stifling a gasp when his erection brushes the comforter, and rifles through the drawer of his bedside table, cursing as he bats irrelevant items out of the way. He has a sudden, horrifying vision of coming up empty and having Jared just get up and leave, getting the hell out with the last of his straightness in tact. Sweat pricks along his shoulders, and he feels his cheeks flushing red.

It's a vast relief when his fingers close around the lube, followed by the cool foil square of a condom packet. He pulls them out with a sigh.

"Get yourself ready for me," Jared says, and sits back on his haunches, slowly stroking his erection as Jensen fumbles open the lube and coats his fingers.

He remembers, deep in his past, gentle whispers telling him to relax, to let someone in. This time, he says it to himself, catching a lip between his teeth. He's already not as limber as he once was, and he grunts at the angle, his abs crunched up tight as he leans back on one hand and works the first finger into himself.

It feels tight, verging on unpleasant, but as he does it, he sees Jared squeeze a hand around his dick, and Jared breathes, "Yeah." He sounds entranced, fascinated, and it's enough to make Jensen feel like really putting on a show for him. He doesn't, too aroused and uncomfortable to do anything but work a second finger into himself and push, trying to open himself up as much, as quickly as possible for Jared. The thought's there, though, hovering there in an air of dark possibility. He'd do a lot of things for Jared, things he'd never consider with or for anyone else.

"You ready yet?" Jared asks. While on the surface it feels casual, Jensen can feel the tense desperation beneath it.

He honestly isn't sure he'll ever be ready, but one look at Jared's face has him saying yes in a tiny, breathy voice and reaching to open the condom and unroll it down the length of Jared's cock. He feels slick and hot, weighty in Jensen's hand, and Jared grins when Jensen gently wraps his hand around him, feeling the heft of what's about to be inside him.

"Go slow," Jensen says shakily, and Jared nods, almost absently.

"Spread your legs," he says, and nudges Jensen until he complies. His hand feels enormous where it's cupped around Jensen's hip.

Jared's first thrust is slow but unrelenting, pushing steadily in. Jensen whimpers and jerks back at the initial press, shocked by how big and intrusive it feels. "Stay still," Jared murmurs, and takes hold of both of Jensen's hips, anchoring him in place as he pushes in in one smooth stoke.

It hurts at first, a blinding pain that feels like Jensen's being split in two. He yelps, but it turns into more of a wail as Jared bottoms out inside of him, balls brushing against Jensen's ass. "H-hang on," he says unsteadily, and tells himself relax, that it'll feel much better if he does. It takes a few long, agonizing moments, but finally he feels relaxed enough to grit out, "Move," and Jared does, his breath hitches as he starts to slide out and back in, still too huge but no longer completely unbearable.

"Lie back," Jared says finally, the first words he's spoken in what feels like a very long time. Jensen complies, and Jared follows him, biceps flexing as he lowers himself down onto his arms and begins to fuck Jensen in earnest.

The first rush of pleasure is a shock, riding in on the preceding wave of discomfort. After that, it starts to build, though, and Jensen's erection begins to take interest, filling up again as Jared's dick slides deep inside of him, hot and slick and enormous, pounding moans out of the both of them as he finds an angle that taps Jensen's sweet spot with every push. "You really wanted this," Jared says, between grunts. He repeats it again, and that strange look is back, his eyes dark and slitted. "You _really_ wanted this."

"Oh, _fuck_," Jensen manages. His vocabulary seems to have been reduced to simple profanity, but he doesn't care. He can't seem to care about anything, not the way he's whining shamelessly, or how he's pushing back against Jared's thrusts, begging him to go deeper, harder.

Jared's arms are straining with tension, slick wit sweat and solid as tree trunks where they bracket Jensen's shoulders. "You gonna come?" he asks, his voice dark with curiosity and desire combined.

Jensen wraps a hand around his dick, and suddenly the pressure is rushing up through his chest, pushing the breath out of him. "_Yeah_," he says, startled.

"Do it," Jared says, and Jensen only gets in one quick pull before he's clenching around Jared's cock and coming so hard it draws tears, slicking his hand and shouting as his muscles tense and then finally release.

Jared grunts and sits up, grabbing Jensen by the hips and pulling him up, his head dragging uselessly against the bed as Jared pounds into him. The angle opens him up, allowing Jared to slot easily into him, even hard and deeper than before. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take much before Jared's coming with a roar, swiping a hand over the pool of come on Jensen's stomach as he shoots, pumping once, twice, before Jensen feels him slump.

Jensen lets out a shuddery gasp, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. It seems to trigger Jared into action, and he pulls swiftly out of Jensen, stripping off the condom and knotting it up before tossing it at the trash can beside the bed. He looks down at his other hand, slick with Jensen's come, and his eyes go wide, almost disbelieving.

"I can't believe we just-" he says, and it doesn't sounds pleased, just shocked. He skids backward, staggering off the bed and fumbling for his clothes. He wipes his hands off on his boxer briefs and tosses them to the side before dragging on his jeans, followed by his t-shirt. "I hafta get out of here," he says, and then he's gone. Jensen hears him tear down the stairs, and then a moment later, the house door slams shut.

"Wait," he whispers lamely, but it's far too late.

Jensen stays stretched out on the bed until he starts to shiver, naked, aching, his stomach a mess of drying come. _A shower_, he thinks weakly. He needs a shower.

He manages to drag himself up, wincing at the soreness. It's thankfully just a few steps to the bathroom, and he doesn't bother with clothes. He's shivering so hard his teeth are chattering, now, and it seems to take forever for the water to heat. Once it's ready, he steps in immediately, rubbing himself clean of come, lube and sweat. It helps, if only just a little.

Once he finishes with this strange burst of productiveness, he's hit with a wave of weary sadness. It's too much to think about, now that he doesn't have anything practical with which to distract himself, and before he can even consider telling himself to man up, he's crying, hot tears that track over his face and mix with the shower water. He sinks to the floor of the stall, cringing at the contact. He feels empty and aching and bruised, and he's not at all sure which parts of that are physical.

He has no real desire to get out of the shower, which would require both thinking and moving. Maybe he'll do it someday, but maybe not. It's sort of nice here, warm and loud enough to drown out at least a few of the ugly words that keep repeating in his head. _You really wanted this_, and _I hafta get out of here_.

An indeterminate period of time later, he hears noise downstairs, and then a voice saying something from outside the bathroom door. He ignores it in the hope that it'll go away, but it seems to have the opposite effect, as a moment later the bathroom door comes crashing open. Then the shower door is also flung wide, and Danneel is staring down at him, looking half-panicked. Her hair is astray, falling out of its loose ponytail, and her blazer is being splattered with droplets from the shower, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Shit," she breathes. "Jenny baby, what happened?"

She turns swiftly away, reaching for a towel, then turns off the water, reaching in to cover Jensen with the first towel before reaching for more. "I found him," she calls, glancing over her shoulder. "He has pajamas in the top dresser drawer, grab some." She turns back to Jensen. "C'mon baby, lets get you dried off. You're shaking like a leaf." She half steps into the shower, helping him up.

"I'm fine," Jensen mumbles, but she ignores him, wrapping her arms around him and gently drying him off with yet another towel. She leans in close, rubbing at his dripping hair, and when she speaks again it's barely a whisper, but still forceful. "Was it Jared?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, but from the way he sags against her, it still must be pretty obvious. "I'm going to fucking kill him," she says darkly, and it sounds like a promise.

The next span of time passes in an indeterminate haze of pajamas, hot tea, and a short interlude of dry-heaving. Jensen feels tired and worn, all cried out. His head is pounding, pressure building up behind his temples.

"It's okay," Danneel whispers, soft and sweet. "We'll be here with you, don't worry. Gonna have a Mystery Science Theater marathon. Allie brought enough DVD's to last all night."

Jensen nods and burrows a little deeper under the covers they've got piled up on the couch. He's laying on his side, half in both Danneel's and Allie's laps. Neither of them is complaining though, and the warmth and companionship are both welcome. Danneel slowly rubs his head, her fingertips strong on his scalp, and for a while Jensen is able to doze.

He wakes up to the smell of coffee, groggy and disoriented. Somehow, his nap must have turned into full fledged sleeping. Danneel's leaning over the couch to kiss Allie on the forehead, balancing two cups of coffee in an amazing feat of dexterity. Allie's still asleep, tucked into the opposite corner of the couch.

He waves hello, awkwardly, and Danneel mouths "Hey," back at him and gestures at the coffee. He nods and carefully extricates himself from the pile of blankets and pillows he's half-buried under, following her out to the kitchen. She sets the coffee in front of him, no caffeine hoarding for once.

"How'd you know something was wrong last night?" he asks. "You seemed pretty sure of yourself."

Danneel wraps her hands around her coffee mug. She looks tired and rumpled, still dressed in the little sweater she had on under her blazer when she came home on the previous night. "I came in and Jared's stuff was gone," she says. "So I went upstairs, found a condom wrapper and an unmade bed. I know how OCD you are about your shit, so I figured something was up. Then you were showering in the dark, which, duh, is kind of creepy."

Jensen hunches down into himself, embarrassed. "Yeah, guess that was kind of dramatic," he says quietly.

"_No_," Danneel says, in her _God, you're a moron_ tone. "I'd say it was allowed after how he fucking treated you. I just meant, you know. I was worried."

"Well," Jensen says awkwardly. "Thanks." He glances down at his depleted coffee cup, and stands up to pour himself another cup. "How was your trip?"

Danneel shifts in her seat, staring down at her coffee as though she's hoping to find some answers in the surface of the still liquid. "I need to talk to you about that, before Allie gets up."

"Um, okay," Jensen says. He leans up against the counter, next to the coffeepot. "Why?"

"Because this is shitty," Danneel says. "She knows about it, but I don't see any reason to get her involved in my Hollywood bullshit. No reason for her to feel bad about someone else's fuck up."

Jensen swallows, suddenly nervous. "What happened? Did someone say something about me? Did I get caught?"

Danneel looks up at him, exasperated. "No," she says slowly. "I did. In Palm Springs, with Allie. I already got a call from the CW, they said we've got to push the wedding up or they'll consider it a breach of contract."

Jensen pushes off the counter, stepping closer to lean forward on the table. "Push it up 'til when?"

"Two weeks," Danneel says. "May 15th or so."

Jensen drops back into his chair. He feels numb, almost boneless. It should be a big deal, in any other circumstance it would, but after his night, he feels like nothing could faze him.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Lets get fucking married."

"Are you sure?" she asks. "They're saying we have to, but we could probably fight it. You know, if you want to."

"Do you?" he says.

She shrugs. "It's the easiest, and it wouldn't really change things. But I don't want to do it if you don't. You'd have to invite your family and everything, make it look really legitimate."

"I can do that," Jensen says firmly, "It's probably for the best."

Allie buys Danneel's ring. She's quietly infallible, as always, but Jensen can see it weighing on her, turning her usual serene expression tired and heavy. "You didn't sign on for this," he says, staring down at the ring display case. "What about that one?"

"I _did_ sign on for this," Allie says, and her voice is uncharacteristically forceful. "You know, you guys aren't the first people I've met who've been fucked over by our homophobic system. Maybe one of the more extreme examples, but, you know. I've been there before." She laughs shortly. "Hell, I've been there myself." She plucks a ring from the case, slender but still strong. "This one," she says, and places it gently down on the counter. "Definitely this."

"It won't change anything," Jensen says miserably. "I'm serious. I think you're great."

"I know you do," Allie says. "Just get through the next few weeks, okay? We'll figure it all out."

"Okay," Jensen says, and it sounds pathetic, almost a whimper.

He meets up with Vickie for coffee, that afternoon. She called the day after the invitations went out, so Jensen's not surprised when the first words out of her mouth are, "We're not coming to the wedding." She looks at him head on, clearly unashamed. For some reason, it makes him feel terrible.

"Okay," he says quietly. "You don't have to. I understand."

"Do you?" She asks. "Why would we enjoy getting all dressed up to go and see our friends be in pain? This is ludicrous." She leans back, crossing one leg over the other in an expansive gesture that somehow perfectly conveys her feelings on the matter.

"We don't really have a choice," Jensen says. "It's either this or we both lose our jobs."

"I get that," Vickie says quietly. "It's just, you can't make this go away just by having a big, creepy ceremony where everyone's really pissed off at each other. I'm not sure in what universe that sounds like a good idea, because it actually isn't." She glares down at her chocolate chip cookie, sitting neatly in the center of a dessert plate, and breaks a piece off with a satisfying crunch. "I hear you haven't been baking, lately," she says, and it sounds suspiciously nonchalant.

"Haven't been hungry," Jensen says.

"And you won't go to the bar where that hottie works? I heard that too."

Jensen sighs, dropping his head into his hands. "Yeah, because the last time I got personal with a guy, it went so well." He looks up, glancing around. "_Shit_, you think anyone heard that?"

She sighs. "No, you're good. I mean good for being completely fucked," she amends. "Anyway, we won't be at the wedding, but if you need to talk or anything, you can call. I don't imagine you'll be having a very exciting wedding night."

"Wow, thanks," Jensen says dryly, but he really does mean it. He can see by Vickie's sad, understanding expression that she knows it too.

They let their PR agents handle most of the details, but it's still time consuming, okaying flowers and guest lists and stupid gifts for the wedding party. It's clearly harder for Danneel, who gets to pay for getting caught by being forced into a PR campaign of bitchy drama queen, her people flooding the internet with status updates, comments and scripted interviews, designed to make her look wedding-crazed. It's not a bad idea, writing her off as being so obsessed with getting married that any rumors about her indiscretions will hopefully be pushed to the side. It's hard on her, though, and Allie too. He hears something that sounds suspiciously like crying coming from Danneel's bedroom one night, and it's definitely not just one person's sobs.

For Jensen's part, the hardest thing is talking to his family. He tells them it's a problem with the wedding venue that's forcing them to push the date forward. His mom doesn't sound pleased, but Jensen assures them that he's paying for their plane tickets and hotel room, which seems to soften the blow somewhat. His dad is even more awkward, gruff but pleased. "Glad you're settling down with a girl," he says, and Jensen sighs and says, "Yeah," with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

He reads off a sheet of paper to Josh, and then Chris and Steve, detailing their roles in the wedding party. He hasn't talked to any of them in ages, and it shows through the cracks of each carefully restrained conversation. Everyone's civil, but they don't sound particularly pleased with him, which he pretty much deserves. He's been distant to almost everyone since Jared's wedding. How fitting that he's completing the cycle with his own marriage.

He knows Jared's going to be in attendance, it's in the contract the network dropped off a week before the wedding. Jared will even be in the wedding party, albeit toward the back. He might have to make eye contact, maybe even shake his hand. Jensen will avoid a hug, if possible, look elsewhere when he can. It'll be difficult, seeing him for the first time since that disaster of a night, especially while he's trying to act happy and loving and, well, straight.

Things are tense at home, too. Danneel tries to keep the mood light, making jokes about her cupcake of a dress and complaining about the extensions her makeup artist is insisting on. Allie goes along with it, and her expression is consistently gentle and kind. Jensen finds himself without an appetite, and mostly takes to living on whiskey, trying not to catch Danneel and Allie shooting him sad, worried looks. He doesn't bother with a bachelor party, although Josh calls and half-heartedly tries to convince him.

The wedding is actually somewhat of an anticlimactic letdown, when it happens. He gets suited up in generic black, pricks his finger on the flower pinned to his lapel, and lets the make-up artist style his hair in what she refers to as an old-fashioned Americana 'do. He thinks it's terrible, but at least it doesn't look like Dean Winchester's the one getting married, and basically he just can't bring himself to care.

His vows are also generic, to the point, and their kiss feels brisk and business-like. The ring weighs down his finger, cold and heavy. Afterward, he sits around for a few hours, trying to choke down food that tastes like plastic, pretending to ignore that he knows exactly where Jared's seated, over at a corner table, speaking in a low voice. He must be talking to someone elderly, because he's got a very specific voice that he uses in those situations, and Jensen can hear it now.

Danneel interrupts his thoughts, a relief since they were inevitably headed in a masochistic direction. She drops a kiss on his forehead, leaning in to whisper, "I think we can do the honeymoon get-away now."

Jensen nods, relieved, and they make one last round, thanking their relatives and more distantly based friends for attending. Jared leans forward in his seat, like he thinks they might come in his direction. He looks poised to say something, but Jensen turns away before he has a chance, slipping out the door with Danneel close behind him.

"Where's Allie?" he asks, once they've put a safe distance between themselves and the reception-room.

"Room 213," Danneel says briefly, and lays a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he lies, and pulls her into a hug. "You?"

"Yeah," she says, and her voice only sounds the tiniest bit shaky. "Good night."

"Good night," he says, and they part ways, Danneel to her girlfriend, and Jensen to acquaint himself with the mini-bar.

Jensen's painfully hung over on the following morning, but they've got to get up and look like they came out of the room together, then get to the airport. They're flying to New York for PR stuff for a new sitcom Danneel's been cast in, something which Jensen has known about for a while but which had gotten pushed to the back of his mind what with everything else that's been going on.

He keeps his sunglasses on throughout the flight and the flurry of publicity shots that greet them just past security. What a nice wedding gift from their agents, he thinks bitterly, and if he doesn't look exactly overjoyed in the pictures, fuck it.

He spends the next few days holed up in a hotel room. He likes New York, but these days he can't stand to get up or go anywhere, really. It seems like every time he ventures out somewhere public, he's flooded with people asking for pictures, questioning him about the wedding, congratulating him. He's always bad with public things, but this is another realm entirely, and the very idea of even one more person recognizing him as that guy from TV sounds completely overwhelming.

Without anything else to do, his hours quickly become so fucked up that he finds himself starting to drink before lunchtime. Danneel's gone for most of the day, and his only other option is to stare woodenly at the sitcoms rerunning on television and replay Jared's stunned, horrified escape over and over again in his head. The whole thing takes on a painful new perspective, when Jensen starts to think about how Jared had been so simultaneously into it and leery of touching him. He wonders what it was that made Jared kiss him in the first place, general drunkenness, wanting to beat Misha at his game of harmless flirting. Maybe it was something else entirely, wanting something as distant as possible from Gen. None of those options make Jensen feel any better.

Before, when nothing had ever really happened, Jensen had so much room to dream. He could interpret Jared's intense gazes and extreme body contact as whatever he wanted them to be, with no real threat of being proven wrong. It had sucked, of course, being convinced that he'd always love his oblivious best friend at least a little, but it was nothing like this crushing emptiness. Now he's had Jared, but in doing so he's lost every stupid hope or possibility that had kept him going, and it leaves him feeling like he'll never be whole again.

After Jensen shows up drunk to a publicity dinner, Danneel tells him to go home early. He's guiltily relieved, happy to get back to his own bed and hide out in peace. He gets off the plane to find he has a missed call from Jared, but deletes it without even a moment of hesitation.

He's only at home for an hour before the doorbell rings. He's stretched out on the couch, fitfully dozing, and it jolts him awake, sudden and harsh in the still, empty house. He considers ignoring it, but it might be Allie, whose presence would be equal parts painful and welcome, and who might assume something's wrong if she was sent over by Danneel to check on him. Jensen sighs and hauls himself up, padding over the thick carpet to the door, barefoot.

It's not Allie. It's Jared, looking hunched up and uncomfortable in the doorway. Jensen considers turning around and hiding somewhere deep in the house, but probably this confrontation has to happen sooner or later, and he might as well get it over with. He's even a little curious about how it's going to go, whether Jared's going to laugh it off as a drunk thing, or maybe say Jensen seduced him with his gayness, or maybe that the impending divorce caused it. There will be the inevitable _we should still be friends_ part of the conversation, which is actually a thinly veiled excuse for _we just signed contracts for the potential season seven of that show we both star in, never mind season six_. He unlocks the door with a sigh, planting himself in the doorway.

"Yeah?" he says. He's already weary, and they haven't even had the talk yet.

"Hey," Jared says. "Can I come in?" He's biting his lip, and his hands are shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans.

Jensen sets his jaw, affecting a sarcastically cheery tone. "Oh, please do. As long as you're not worried that you'll catch the gay."

Jared takes a shaky breath, following him into the house and leaning back against the door as it shuts with a click. "A little late for that," he says quietly, and swallows, staring down at his shoes.

"You're right," Jensen says bitterly. "You've already been there."

Jared looks up at him, then. "You're right," he repeats firmly. "I _have_ been there before, but you weren't the first, okay? And you're not the first person I've flipped out over, either. I'm not exactly proud of that."

"Great," Jensen says coldly. "You cleared the air. All better? Thanks for stopping by."

"No," Jared says quickly. "Please, this is hard for me, okay?"

"It's hard for me too," Jensen shoots back, but he can't resist wanting to know what it is that Jared wants to say. If nothing else, maybe it'll give him some closure, let him get on with his life. "Okay, ten minutes."

"Okay," Jared says, and follows Jensen obediently into the kitchen, sitting down at the center island. "Look," he says, "I'm sorry, first of all. I'm really fucking sorry. The way I treated you was unforgiveable. I was scared. I tried so hard not to like you. I just-" he sighs, frustrated. "Everybody said this was what I was supposed to want, you know? I'm supposed to be happy with my gorgeous wife. But all I could think about was how I wanted to be with you. It's pretty much all I ever think about, ever since I met you."

"Go on," Jensen says. He's trying to keep his voice neutral, but it comes out shaky. "We getting to the good part?"

"Yeah," Jared says. He leans forward on his elbows, dragging his hands through his hair. "Look, that night was-" he hesitates, drawing a quick breath. "I've never wanted anybody like I want you, but that night was all wrong. I went about it wrong, it makes me sick to think about how I treated you, even while it was happening. And afterward, all I could think about was how I crossed some fucking line and I could never go back." He laughs, darkly. "But see, that's the thing. If there ever was any line, I crossed it a long time ago, and I'm starting to think maybe that doesn't even matter. I'm happy when I'm with you, and I'm not happy when we're apart. Maybe it's as simple as that." He looks up at Jensen, and his expression is open, painfully vulnerable. "I'm in love with you, Jen, and if there's ever a chance that you'd let me try, I want this." His voice is growing stronger as he adds, "I want _us_."

There's something vast and unfamiliar building up in Jensen's chest, but he forcibly tamps it down, saying, "I won't go back to the way I was, Jared. I'm done being ashamed of myself for no fucking reason."

"I'm okay with that," Jared says. "It'll take a little time, but hell, I'll march in a Pride parade if that's what it takes."

"No," Jensen says. "But you'd come to the bar and meet other people like us, and you couldn't say bad shit about gay people. You'd have to hang out with Danneel and her girlfriend and not say anything douchey about hot lesbians either. And you can't be ashamed of us, or this can never work." He sits up taller, suddenly sure of what he has to say. "I've been coming to terms with myself, Jared," he says. "I used to be really fucked up over this stuff, and maybe I still am, but it's getting better. I'm gay, and there's nothing wrong with it. Every time I say it I believe it a little more." He glances up, catching Jared's eye and looking straight at him, unflinching. "I've wanted you for a long time, but I'm not giving this up. Not even for you."

Jared stands up, looking awkwardly down at Jensen. "I don't want you to give anything up," he says seriously. "I just want you, if you'll let me try."

Jensen squeezes his eyes closed. "Okay," he whispers, and he hears Jared's exhale, sharp with relief.

"I really wanna kiss you," Jared says, and it ends almost on a sob.

"Do it," Jensen says, and then Jared's mouth is on his, soft and slow and gentle. Jensen's not sure who's more of a mess, but they're both shaking, both gasping like they've just run a marathon. Jared's hunched over at an angle that looks painfully awkward, leaning forward

"_Shit_, Jen," Jared says, his lips brushing torturously slowly against Jensen's. "God," he says barely a whisper. "I really want this. Really want you."

Jensen ducks his head, suddenly bashful. "You sure?" he asks. "Because if you're not you need to get out of here right now."

"I'm sure," Jared says, and he reaches forward and lifts Jensen's chin, punctuating it with a kiss. "I'm really, really sure."

"Good," Jensen says firmly, and kisses him back.

It takes them a ridiculously long time to make it up the stairs, constantly distracted by new places to kiss. They have to take a detour to christen Jared's favorite spot on the couch, and it all feels so soft and new, interspersed with an approximately equal amount of laughter and choked off sobs. Jared's still shaking, but Jensen feels strangely confident, leaning easily into Jared's embrace and just holding him until he's ready to keep going.

Upstairs, Jared keeps up a litany of shocked, worshipful praise, as though he can't quite believe he's getting to do everything that's happening. He's quietly reverent as he slowly works Jensen open on his fingers, his expression full of wonder, as Jensen lets himself quiver and moan freely. It feels good, better than anything he can remember, maybe because it's the first time he's ever thought about how he's about to have gay sex, and not felt crippled by confusion. It's still fragile and new, but it doesn't overwhelm him, and that's good. That's a start.

Jared's slow and careful, maybe partially out of a fear of hurting Jensen, but just as much out of curiosity. He's hesitant at first, but as he starts to figure out what Jensen likes best, he grows more bold, until Jensen finally pulls Jared own over him, fumbling to get the condom open. "Now," he says forcefully. "No more waiting." Jared nods, and pushes in in one slow, shivery stroke. He gasps something, but it's lost in a moan. Jensen thinks it might have been his name, and he can't keep himself from grinning and letting his gasps go fast and musical and happy, surprisingly high pitched.

Afterward, Jared wraps around him, pulling Jensen in close. He's sweaty, hot and huge, and it feels much better than it really should, logically speaking. He's got a silly, dazed look on his face, and he's sprawled out, stretched over nearly the whole length of the bed. It feels good to have someone else here helping to fill up the space. Jensen hasn't shared a bed with anyone in ages, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it until now. Still dizzily boneless, it takes a lot of effort to roll over, but it's worth it when he ends up facing Jared's chest. He leans forward, stretching to brush a kiss over the base of Jared's neck. "You okay?" he asks sleepily.

Jared smiles, that ridiculous grin of his that scrunches up his whole face. Jensen's almost embarrassed by how much he likes it, but at this point, he feels like it might actually be okay for him to get all sappy over these kinds of things, these little gestures that he loves, even if other people think they make Jared look crazed. "I'm okay," Jared says back, his voice low and warm, still a bit gravelly. It turns out that he's a bit of a screamer, not that Jensen's really surprised. He sounds sated and content now, though, and Jensen can feel Jared's pulse gradually slowing, beating reassuringly steadily against Jensen's cheek.

"I _like_ you," Jensen says, and it sounds like he's confiding a secret, or alternately like he's maybe in middle school. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries not to laugh. "Okay, we need to pass out right now if I'm starting to say shit like that."

"But wait," Jared says. "I definitely wanna hear this. Gonna tell me all the things you like about me? My charm, my wit, my hair?"

"Dude, be lucky I like you in spite of your hair," Jensen says. "No way I'd let you go to homecoming with me with that 'do."

Jared ruffles his hair affectionately. "Oh, I see. You come out first, you get to make all the bitchy style judgments."

"Please," Jensen says. He's trying to look annoyed, but he can't stop smiling, and his grin feels stupidly huge. "It's not my fault your hair's a crime against humanity."

"Aw, and I was just about to ask if we could be boyfriends," Jared says. His voice dips soft at the end, and he looks down through his eyelashes, as though he's suddenly bashful.

"Fine," Jensen says, and rather than adding anything painfully emotional, he opts to stroke a hand over Jared's cheek and lean in to slowly kiss him again and again.

He wakes up in the morning to Jared stirring beside him. His hair's all matted up, flat on one side and insane on the other, and Jensen tucks his face into the curve of Jared's neck to keep from laughing too audibly. "Coffee?" he says hopefully.

"I was just thinkin' about that." Jared says. "I was planning to sneak down and make you some, but I wasn't sure if you'd get pissy if I touched your precious coffeemaker."

"Coffee," Jensen says again, trying to imbue that word with the vast importance and desperation it deserves.

"God, you are such a princess," Jared says, but he's laughing, cupping his head around the base of Jensen's skull and kissing him on the top of his head. "I can't believe I'm already this whipped. Fine, fine, I'll make coffee, if you make breakfast after."

"Deal," Jensen says, and sticks out his hand for Jared to shake, still comfortably lying half on top of him. It's really a tough call, continuing to use Jared as a pillow versus caffeine.

"My life is so hard," he mumbles against Jared's neck, and Jared laughs happily, his breath warm against Jensen's forehead. He draws his arms loosely around Jensen, sliding his hands down to the base of his spine.

"Mmm, we could make out a little first," Jared suggests hopefully, and Jensen turns his head lazily, letting Jared do all the work.

"If you insist," he says, and Jared kisses the corner of his uncontrollable smile, stifling a laugh against his cheek.

It's nice, warm and lazy and unhurried. Jensen feels pleasantly boneless, drowsy and happy to let Jared bear his weight and manhandle him around. The morning light makes Jared's skin glow golden, and he feels huge and strong, over and under and all around Jensen. He feels like he could just stay here forever, peaceful and uninterrupted.

Of course that's when Danneel starts shouting. "Jensen homo-middle-name Ackles," she calls, surprisingly loud even through the closed door. "I'm coming in, you pathetic fucker," she adds, and Jensen doesn't even have time to cringe before she thrusts open the door. "It's time to fix your life," she says, and then looks up, stops short, and tilts her head, staring at them with narrowed eyes. "Jensen," she says slowly. "Are you, or are you not, cuddling with an enormous douchebag?"

"Not a mirage," Jensen says lazily. He feels like he ought to be trying to cover up a little more, but he's too comfortable to bother. Plus, this is the girl who barges in on him at least twice a week while he's getting dressed and is never, ever fazed.

Now seems to be no exception. She plops down at the foot of the bed. "Hey Jared," she says. She's using her innocent voice, the one that always means she's up to something devious. Jensen settles back into the curve of Jared's embrace, observing. Jared may have apologized and everything, but he still probably deserves this.

"Uh, hey," Jared says.

"So," Danneel says. "You guys made up?"

"Yeah," Jared says. "I was an idiot, and I finally said so."

"Great," Danneel says smoothly. "I hope you still won't mind my saying that if you hurt my baby there, I'm gonna kick your fucking ass. And then I'm gonna run your lame, kicked ass over with my beautiful car." She smiles sweetly. "Okay?"

"Sounds reasonable," Jared says, and he shrugs, kissing Jensen on the cheek. "Really though, things are gonna be different now."

"Is it time for coffee yet?" Jensen interrupts. There's plenty of time for this conversation later, and he's sure Danneel's planning a much more tense discussion once he's out of earshot. That can wait, though, because right now he's got something new and wonderful, and he can't remember the last time he felt this good, maybe ever.

"Yes, time for coffee now," Jared says, chuckling, and ignores Danneel's pointed, "_Gross_," in favor of leaning in for another kiss.

_This is the first morning of many_, Jensen thinks, and kisses him back, even as he smiles.

Epilogue

Their first Christmas together, everyone gathers at Jared's old house in Vancouver. He'd intended to rent it out, but Jensen's glad he didn't. It's nice to have a familiar place, and they've spent a lot of time supplementing all their old habits and memories with new ones. Vickie has just arrived, fresh from a speaking tour for her newest book. She slaps a copy of it down on the table before stretching up on her toes to kiss Jensen on the cheek, raising an eyebrow at the sprig of mistletoe Jared had gleefully hung in the doorway. The book's a hardcover with a glossy dust-jacket, bearing the title, "Sex and Sexuality: Loving Yourself for the Sake of Your Love Life," and a portion of the proceeds are going toward marriage equality campaigns. Jensen blushes a little and hugs her tight, until Misha pushes him companionably out of the way to give Vickie a real kiss hello.

Danneel and Allie have been in town for a few days, and they're curled up on the couch watching _A Christmas Story_ for at least the third time, and obnoxiously knowing all the good lines before they happen. They both look warm and cozy in big, soft sweaters, and Danneel's hair gleams bright against the lamplight, fanned out over the top of the couch. Harley and Sadie are both curled up around their feet, looking worshipfully up at the precariously tilting plate of cookies they're both absentmindedly devouring.

"Hey, give me a hand?" Jared asks, and Jensen follows him into the kitchen. Jared's elbow deep in food, having promised a homemade dinner if Jensen made his mom's old fashioned sugar cookies from scratch. It isn't exactly full disclosure, but it's a start, calling his parents and letting them tell stories about how he used to help make the icing as a kid, and what the neighbors just did to their lawn, and how somebody maybe dinged the side of their car, but maybe his dad was just careless when he was bringing in the groceries. It feels nice, talking to them, and Jensen thinks, maybe he'll never tell them, but maybe he will.

Helping with dinner actually means making out while Jared waits for the oven to preheat, and he leaves a streak of olive oil on Jensen's cheek that is immediately going to tip everyone off. It doesn't matter, it's not like they do a great job of keeping their hands off each other even when they're around everyone else, and it's not like anyone here doesn't know about them. Jensen steals a cherry tomato, popping it in his mouth before Jared can snatch it out of his hand. It bursts crisply in his mouth with a rush of surprisingly rich flavor, especially given that tomatoes are definitely out of season. Jared drags his thumb over Jensen's chin, wiping away an errant drop of tomato juice, and Jensen grins unrepentantly and tries to sneak an olive.

Danneel wanders into the kitchen, turning to pull a few more beers out of the refrigerator. "Now?" Jared murmurs, and Jensen nods and clears his throat.

"Hey," he says, "C'mere a second, okay?"

Danneel nods, reaching for the bottle opener as she follows him to the one counter that Jared hasn't got all covered with ingredients. Jensen reaches behind the microwave and produces a manila envelope, handing it to her. "Wanted to give you this early, not in front of everyone," he says awkwardly. He's never been good at this kind of stuff.

Danneel opens the tabs on the envelope and pulls out a sheaf of papers, raising an eyebrow as she scans the first page. "Divorce papers?" she says.

"Yeah," Jensen says, and hurries to explain. "Look, I thought we could maybe just not tell anyone," he says. "They don't have to know we're not married. We can even keep living together. Jared and Allie spend ninety percent of their time there, anyway. And I mean, you and Allie are doing so well, I just thought you might like to be free. You know, if you ever wanted to start thinking about stuff. You guys shouldn't have to worry about this, if you wanna be together."

"Wow," Danneel says quietly. "Okay. Wow." She's standing very still, and her face is uncharacteristically difficult to read. She takes a short, shuddery breath, and then she clutches the papers to her chest and drags them both into a hug. "Wow," she says again, and now it's definitely happy. She looks suspiciously red-eyed, and Jensen finds himself rapidly blinking, too. Suddenly there are so many possibilities and they all look really, really good.

"I gotta go show this to Allie," Danneel says, and catches up the beers in her free hand, shouldering open the door. She kicks it shut behind her, and Jensen shifts to look up at Jared, still a little bright-eyed.

"We're bad people," Jared says. He drapes his arm over Jensen's shoulders, pulling him in close.

"Not arguing, but why are you saying that?" Jensen asks. They're leaned up not far from the oven, and the warmth feels nice.

"Well," Jared says, "I think it's bad to give somebody else a gift because _you_ wanna have it. At least my mom told me that when I tried to get my cousin the sweet Hot Wheels playset I wanted in third grade. My aunt babysat me at their house twice a week, what a coincidence."

Jensen chuckles, turning his head toward in toward Jared's warm, sweater-clad chest. "Crafty. But what do you mean, exactly?"

Jared shrugs, careful not to dislodge Jensen. "Look" he says finally. "I'm not saying we should rush into anything, because I like the way we are, and I think it works. But, uh," He hesitates, and Jensen nods against his shoulder, indicating that he should continue. "Back when I was being a douche, you took off that ring you always used to wear, the one I picked up at that weird little jewelry stand back when we were filming the first season," Jared says. "And now I'm kinda glad you did, because, uh," he lets out a quick rush of breath, clearly nervous. He shifts closer to Jensen, reaching into his jeans pocket with his free hand. "I kind of wanted to get you one that really says what I mean," he says, and holds out his hand palm up. He's holding a plain, silver band. It looks tiny in his massive hand. "I hope this isn't creepy," he says awkwardly. "Just thought maybe your hand was feeling bare." He holds up the ring, pointing with his thumb. "I had it inscribed," he says. "The date we met, and the date when we made things, you know, official." He shrugs again. "Feel free to tell me I'm living in a soap opera."

"Hey, I was _in_ a soap opera," Jensen says, and he takes the ring, sliding it on. "What do I tell people when they ask about it?"

"Tell them I gave it to you," Jared says firmly, and Jensen just smiles, lacing his fingers into Jared's. The ring is already warming around his finger, and the weight is nice, just right where it gleams brightly between Jared's fingers. He hasn't got any words to sum up how it makes him feel, but that's okay. He just looks up at Jared, and Jared looks back, and that's all it takes to know that Jared knows just how he feels.

"We should take the food out soon," Jensen says, finally. "Everyone's probably hungry."

"They can wait," Jared says softly, and kisses Jensen again, close and warm and cozy, while the windows go frosted over and the snow begins to stick, falling softly in the December night.


End file.
